Part of the Pride
by McDiva226
Summary: The chronicles of Amanda, a freshman flautist in the Pride of Owasso Hs. Marching Band. Warning: We're not responsible if your Flute line gets attacked by pirates or for your Horn line thinking they can all be amazing Drum Majors just cause. Updated!
1. Pre Band in all its glory

**The First Day of Pre-Band**

We, being the Freshman class of the 2007 Marching season, walked out onto the field with anxiety. We had heard the horror stories of pre-band, how people were hospitalized, how the marching instructor hated Freshmen, how the Seniors fed off of the fears of Freshmen. How unlucky are we, we thought, to be the source of so much hatred. I was standing in my section,  
seven Freshmen and one rookie Sophomore. Our squad leader was Melinda, my band buddy. A short but very pretty Senior picollo, Melinda was definately someone to look up to. She was an excellent marcher, player and was funny, smart and a great leader. She was also a band/choir hybrid like me and devoted her life to being in the two extemely competitive electives. I was proud standing next to her, being her band buddy. I felt so special. She explained we would start some marching basics the first day for a little while with the dreaded marching instructor and then break up into squads for more instruction. There would be a competition at the end of the second week for the squads. My friend Corie Jo and I looked at each other, like the bloodthirsty competitors we were, and smiled.

"**CHHHHIIIIIRRRPPPURPPP!**" Everyone but Melinda gave a start, immediately looking around for the source of the noise.

"Go on." She said motioning for us to take the field. The field, of course, being a parking lot outside the actually football field. It had the yard line numbers and those weird hash mark thingies that we were taught some thousand years ago.The noise broke the scuffle of sneakered feet again and we saw it was coming from a handsome older boy with an intense disciplined gaze. He did not smile as he put on dark sunglasses an crossed his arms. He was an intimidating sight, even without trying, wearing a plain white T-shirt, dark shorts, and sneakers like the rest of the band, with the silver whistle hanging loosely around his neck. Next to him, stood a pretty older girl with the same look about her. But she smiled when she saw the scared Freshmen get into the warm up block, especially at the flute section. She too wore similar cloths, but with star patterned shorts and no sunglasses. I looked at Melinda, who got into the block next to me, and felt a tiny bit of confidence grow inside me. The older boy and girl stood off the front sidelines in the shaded bit and watched as a old man ran out onto the field.

I was curious as to who they were, but knew enough not to speak in a practice, so I was thankful when Melinda whispered, "Drum majors." I had no idea what it meant at the time, but I assumed that made them minor gods or something. The marching instructor, Mr. Taylor, we had met earlier in a marching clinic in May, but we hadn't gotten the chance to know him. He seemed nice enough as we went through the basics we had learned when we had done our first parade. He smiled at us all, commending the seniors who had also come to the hour early Freshmen practice. Then, we broke up into squads. I followed on Melinda's heels as she led our little group to the far end of the parking lot away from everyone else. "Ben!" She hollered. We watched as another handsome looking senior showed up at her side.

"What is with these Seniors? Are they all like, models or something?" Kristen, one of the girls in my year, mumbled next to me.

"Guys." Melinda started, clearly trying to ignore Ben's huge smile at the model comment. "This is Ben Kozma. He will be your other squad leader. Ben gave a little wave. It was the one and only Ben that we had heard so much about. Amazing marcher, amazing clarinet player and amazing baseball player, state champion baseball player. That Ben Kozma.

"Oh" We all said in unison. Ben grinned. We went through some more basics as the upper classmen began to arrive. A senior girl yelled for Melinda, so she dismissed us for water. We all sped away for a water break, carefully avoiding the upperclassmen we didn't know. Corie Jo and I found our favorite sophomore, Kristi, on the outer edge of the cluster of upperclassmen. She was wearing sunglasses and had her huge three gallon water bottle in addition to her giant red camelback almost identical to mine. I grabbed my water bottle and chugged it for all it was worth, panting from our efforts.

"Good morning, my freshmen! Ready for some real fun?!" She grinned evilly. I gulped and assumed the look that would become known as the scared freshman. She smiled. "Just kidding. Calm down, Amanda." My fingers twitched nervously, anxious to have my flute with me instead of having it sit uselessly inside.

"Only...three more hours." Corie Jo said unjubiantly. We winced as we heard the Drum Major's whistle. Kristi threw her bottle down.

"Let's have at it!" She said encouragingly.

* * *

We limped painfully to the shade under the bleachers, completely soaked in sweat. Kristi grabbed her purse and began spraying herself up and down with perfume. 

"Yuck." She exclaimed, peeling at her t-shirt.

"I can't feel my legs.

"Good."

"Shut up, Kristi."

"Stupid Freshman." Kristi had told as before we started she was so happy not to be a Freshman anymore and would delight in calling us stupid Freshman when she pleased. Corie Jo glared at her as we made our way to the Performing Arts Center. We were told we would have music sectionals, a break for lunch, more sectionals and then meet in the Multi-purpose building for final full band rehearsal. We couldn't use our beloved band room because the construction workers said it was too unsafe. We would be getting a brand new Band Room with all the trimmings by the time we were Sophomores. The Seniors were less than pleased. We grabbed our stuff out of the hotter-than-heck Multi purpose, and the headed back to the High School PAC. Kristi hummed the 2006 show the entire time,  
until, finally we made it to the shade or the PAC stage and set up in the pitch blackness.

"Why is it so dark in here?" I exclaimed as Kristi tripped on the steps up to the stage.

"How the heck should I know?"

"Ouch, my head!" Wailed a voice.

"Think of it as an improvement." Said another voice without any trace of laughter.

"Whoa, who's touching my butt!" Shrieked a girl.

"Wish I could say it was me." Said a deep voice of a Senior.

"Perv, I'm gonna kill you!"

"Okay, let's find a freakin' light switch, maybe?" Said an annoyed voice.

"But it's fun groping around in the dark!" Someone commented sarcastically.

"Ha, that's what she said!"

Several nose of disgusts along with a couple of messy high fives were heard until, amazingly, the stage was bathed in a brilliant white light.

"Ah, the light, it burns!" Cried an older flute player falling back into her chair. Mr. O'Kelly walked onto the stage and began to supervise as we set up chairs. Corie Jo and I chose sets wisely. We didn't want to seem cocky and sit in the front row with the seniors, but we didn't want to seem uneager and sit in the back row with the underachievers. So we chose seats on either side of Kristi in the middle of the second row. I gingerly took my flute, Aaron out of his nice green case with the special shoulder strap. I touched his "battle scar" from the time he got into a fight with the music stand back on my first week of playing. (The stand won, by the way.) I would have had him for five years come September as I was a transplant band member and moved in the middle of their beginner band.

But Owasso, being one of the Nationally ranked bands in America, whipped me into shape faster than you would believe.  
I was dreadful at the flute until All-Region tryouts for All-Region band .I was being incredibly loud during results and Mr. O'Kelly yelled at me for it. Nothing incredibly major, but from then on, I vowed to be the best I could be. I went from 6th band in band camp the previous year to first, the top band, beating out freshmen for my spot. But the next year,I only made alternate to All-Region due to a crappy private lessons teacher and lost my first chair position in concert band, never regaining it throughout the entire year. I was so depressed for half that year, until I got my brand new concert flute, Jonathan. Still, I knew Mr. O'Kelly was disappointed Corie Jo, who also got first chair back from me, made it and I didn't. Disappointed with me, that is. Before we started Pre-Band, I made a vow to get a spot in the Competition band and never have Mr. O'Kelly be disappointed in me ever again. It sucks to have your favorite director disappointed with you, even worse than having them mad at you. As I though of all this, Mr. O'Kelly had eagerly jumped to the front of his 2007 woodwind section.

"Ready guys?" The saxophones behind us hurriedly shoved reeds into their mouthpieces as Mr. O'Kelly started the rest of the band in the F major scale. I could hear tons of flutes; it was so different from the four I was used to. My section looked big too, with about twenty-four flutes. "Cool." I thought to myself. After the warm-up, Mr. O'Kelly said pass offs for the school song would be today, tomorrow and the next day at the latest. Kristi nodded and got up to pass off for our other woodwind director, Mr. Workman. Corie looked at me. I shook my head no. Maybe tomorrow. For the rest of us, he fumbled with his music for several long seconds.

"Uh...let's take a look at Part One." The senior flutes grinned to each other and got out their music. I did too, worried about my playing. The music was just so hard! Especially when I had barely had time to practice. But Mr. O'Kelly started it anyway. I watched as he tried to get the tempo right. Below him, in the audience, I saw a younger looking Drum Major, rush through the seats in the audience. He was carrying a huge stack of music and also had a tiny silver whistle around his neck.

"Alright, let's go!" Mr. O'Kelly smiled rasing his hands. Here goes nothing...

* * *

"It's really hard music." I said doubtfully. Kristi shook her head. 

"Nah, you'll pick it up in no time. It's really easy once you get the hang of it." She said waving over Dillon, her boyfriend of almost a year.

"Hey Satan." Dillon nodded at his nickname.

"Hey Amanda, how's O'Kelly."

"Fine, how's Mrs. Gorham treating you guys." He grinned his cockily.

"Ah, she's as angry as ever. Not at me though." I smiled. You can make the eighth grader a Freshmen, but he'll still be as cocky as ever. Kristi wrapped her hand over his mouth as he tried to tell the group a good way for her to "loosen up".

"Just saying!" Came his muffled cry. Corie jo kicked him in the shin. I looked around for my buddy Colton or Dillon's best friend Cody or someone, wondering if they were coming.

"Right, let's go." Kristi said as Cody ran over to join the group.

"Hey, guess who already got some laps."

"It better not be you Cody." Kristi threatened. Cody shook his head no.

"No, I had to put up my baritone. By the way, Dillon. Where did you put yours? Uh, anyway yeah. A couple of Freshmen said something stupid about a Senior in the clarinet section and she made them run laps."

"Ah-ha! Serves them right!" Kristi exclaimed.

"What did they say?" Corie Jo asked curiously.

"Dunno, but it must've been bad, cause they are still running!" We crossed the street at this point to Seasons Express, local Chinese food grease trap. Everyone ordered their food and we snagged a table in the center of the little room. Dillon told Cody to keep his mouthpiece to himself. Kristi and her Sophomore Trombone friend speculated about the younger Drum Major I had seen in rehearsal, Wes.

"He's a Junior." Kristi told me when I asked.

"Really? I thought you had to be a Senior." The trombone., Andrea, shook he head.

"Nope. You just have to be really really good. Besides, we've had tons of Drum Major's that were juniors. He'll be head next year too, seeing as the other three are all Seniors."

"There's three now!" Corie Jo exclaimed, remembering the two we'd seen that morning.

"Uh, yeah." She said, worried by her excitement. Then, we got the food. Cody almost chocked on a fork in his food. We never did find out how it got there. And we got excited because the sunglasses they had on the signs for Summer Specials were red, just like our marching show, Red Shades. I shuddered when it was mentioned, still nervous about memorizing three pages of music.

After a quick lunch we raced back to the Multi-purpose. We lounged in front of the huge box fan and played cards. Kristi sayed it was a thing to do between sectionals and rehursals. We nodded in understanding, still a little tired from our morning rehursal outside. We watched the band directors in the cornor of the room in the make-shift band office,which is normally a room dividing the big and small bandroom. Now, it was two big desks pushed together where our hard working secretary, Mrs. Majestic was ruffling up papers and conversing with Band directors. Mr. O'Kelly was showing off the multi-colored lensed sunglasses he got during concert-contest season last year. No kidding, he bought them for our round of concert band contest and wore them with his tux that day. Dillon, Colton, and Cody loved them.

Finally, we headed back to the PAC. Of course, that was well before Mr. O'Kelly left, because Dillon tends to talk to him like they're best friends, Mr. O'Kelly in only in his late twenties after all. Kristi yelled at him to stay with her. She's not an idiot after all. We did get there eventually. But when we walked in, all the Seniors in my section had returned having taken showers, changed into nicer cloths and had on flip-flops. I was still a little shy about talking to them, even Melinda, even though she was so nice to me on the field. She smiled at me when I walked on the stage and I smiled back. The girl that had called after her that morning smiled at me too. Ben, who was sitting in the first row too, arrived in practice shorts again. Kristi said it was because Ben wanted to be back on the field again. I thought he was nuts. That afternoon was full of practicing the March we had to have memorized for the first half-time show. It was called March Grandioso and it was about as happy as marches get. Kristi complained that it was annoying. I played her "favorite" part of it over and over again for her enjoyment after we were dismissed to the Muti-purpose.

"Freshman, noooooo! Bad! Stop!" She howled holding her ears. We walked into the Multi-purpose to the music ot the Pit. We got into horn archs with our section.

"Lucky Pit and Drumline." Commented the Senior that stood next to me.

"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"They already know who's in what in Comp Band. We have to wait until school starts." She said watching the Drumline spead out behind the tubas. Colton waved at me from his section, hitting Ryan, another freshman tuba, in the face ith his mouthpeice. I shook my head. I turned around and looked to see a platform in the middle of the pit.  
The boy Drum Major from that morning was standing on the platform and staring at the ground. His hands were moving around in a flurry.

"Oh! Drum Major's conduct, don't they!" I announced stupidly. Kristi laughed at me, shaking her head at me. I grew red in the face as Drum Major raised his hands.

"Set!" Cried Ben from way down the line with his clarinets.

"Mark-time." Kristi hissed as Drum Major started "dutting" out the beats. I kept getting off beat, moving my feet outrageously out of time. I could wrap my head around it yet. Finally, we made it through the warm up and the director with the microphone told us to start Grandioso. Drum Major started dutting again and this time my flute was up before he was ready. We started incredibly loud,  
ready to prove ourselves. The director shook his head and Drum Major cut off.

"First off, try WATCHING the Drum Major and what is the dynamic marking. Ah, state champion Ben, what is the dynamic marking at measure number five?" Asked Mr. Harris, appearing from behind the horns.

"Piano!" Hollered Ben.

"That's right. Play it at piano and watch the Drum Major. He won't be wrong." Drum Major smiled slightly. This time, we were much better, but had to restart because we never got louder. I couldn't keep my feet in time with anyone eles and was playing the few notes I coul play pitifully. I looked for a Senior or someone to look off of, but therer were none in front of me. And then it started to get hot. People were ashing to get their water bottles and draining them as soon as Drum Major cut off. The Seniors, however, were calm, collented, and their make-up still looked great.Melinda was standing next to Ben and talking. She had what we would later deem the Senior glow, which is a glow of awesome succescess each Senior gets when they reach the level of Senior in the band. You could tell who was a Senior and who wasn't, even that first day. Drum Major Had it, Ben had it, Melinda had it. The Freshman had about the opposite of that, which was a look of fear about them. We finished Grandioso and Mr. Harris handed over the Mic to Mr.  
Gorham, the head director, husband of Mrs. Gorham, and the co-composer of show music.

"Congratulations, you have finished you first day of Pre-Band." The Freshman screamed joy at this. Mr Gorham got serious. "You've got about seventeen more to go, though." Ben grinned. Melinda and the Senior flutes smiled. Drum Major nodded. Kristi's eye twitched a little. Corie Jo looked at me in disgust, groaning in pain. I sighed, pulling at my wet t-shirt. This was going to be a long seventeen days.


	2. Drill, what the heck is that?

A/N: Hey peoples. I guess I didn't introduce myself in Chapter one. I didn't want to ruin the story with my rambelings. I am Amanda, your chaming Freshman narrator and your personal guide through the hectic world of The Pride Of Owasso Marching. Feel free to message me with questions. Just a quick note, that all the thing in this story, acually did happen. We may not appear insane just yet, but we are just getting started. We haven't even gotten to the first game yet! So just sit back and relax, cause we have about three more months of glorious Marching Season to cover. Oh, and about the amanda thing, Metzger is Actually Amanda, but we all call her Metzger to save ourselves the trouble. she forgets sometmes though...-A.L.D

**Getting to know them.**

It's hard to believe it, but we managed to get through that first week without anything bad happening! Well...except Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor is about the coolest old dude on the planet. He's incredibly fit because he is always running everywhere and he is super-smart when it comes to Marching Band. And he really does love the band. Maybe that was why he couldn't keep his secret from us. One day, we were cut short from our marching exercises and Mr. Taylor told us all to gather around and sit down. I caste I sidelong glance at Melinda and Isaac, a senior saxophone player and the brother of Jessica, another Sophomore flute friend we had met. Anyway, sitting down in the Pride of Owasso? That means something bad is coming right off the bat. Mr. Taylor looked at us all and explained slowly and carefully that his wife had breast cancer. He told us that he couldn't keep it from us because he cared too much for us. He explained he would be gone a few days coming up for her treatment. And he cried a little throughout the whole thing. Now, that definitely scared us. This huge strong guy crying in front of his students. It's enough to produce some ample tears in its own right.

We walked back to the PAC in solemnity. The flute section decided to have a pray section backstage before rehearsal. We held onto each others hands and said the most sincere prayers we could. Even for us Freshman who had just met him, we cared so much for Mr. Taylor. We decided, after prayers, that we would get shirts and run in the race for a cure in September. WE all agreed this was good, and went to normal rehearsals.

But other things happened too. Like, we had a flute meeting the third day to introduce everyone. And the Freshman were handed little bags of treats courtesy of Ashley, a senior flute. And we met Morgan, Melinda's senior friend, Jennie, easily the most out-spoken and loved person in the section, and we learned that Hilary, that older girl Drum Major we had seen that first day, was in our section too. And we set up a time for the Flute Party, which would take place before the BOA Fall Preview we were hosting.

"Oooo, flute party!" Said Metzger, my choir/band hybrid buddy.

"You know what happens at those..." Commented Colton, heaving his tuba over shoulder. I glared.

"You're just mad you can't come." Colton, in true to himself fashion, stuck out his tongue and made an awful noise with his mouth piece. Immediately, seven answered back and I looked behind him to see seven tubas with mouth pieces pressed to their lips.

"Mating calls." Metzger said knowingly. We nodded as Colton sputtered at the fact all of his section but one was full of guys.

"Buh-Bye Bambi!" I called over my shoulder.

"Bambi?" Asked a Senior tuba curiously.

"Amanda!" Colton wailed. At this point both Metzger and I turned.

"What."

"No! Other Amanda." He said pointing to me and mouthing "Thanks a lot." His section was contemplating whether Bambi was a really good name to put on the section shirt and if it would go with the tubas knight theme well. Metzger and I sniggered and walked off.

* * *

"Set!" Hollered Mr. Taylor. He pace back and forth watching the slow careful movements by the rookies. 

"Feet together...now tuck your hips under your rib cage...that's it." He said softly, watching us become still.

"Raise one hand is a fist, cover the fist...six inches from your mouth, not twelve Saxes." He chided. Everyone was at attention.

"Ready, te count...one, two, ready move!"

"Te!" Screamed the band as they lifted their left heel off the ground.

"Good, remember the weight shift. Flutes." He commented.

I glanced at Melinda out of the corner of my eye. As usual, she was perfect. Then I glanced at Kristi out of my other eye. She was leaning forward slightly, but other than that, perfection. I sighed inwardly as Mr. Taylor came over in my direction.

"Amanda," He said turning the mic off. "Your weight is on the back of your heels. Try leaning forward more." I made the adjustment.

"Yes, sir!" I said evenly. He laughed a little.

"You don't have to call me sir. But good discipline." He nodded encouragingly and ran back out.

"Relax!"

I looked at Melinda. She smiled. Point for the Freshman!

"Alright it's squad time!" Shouted Mr. Taylor. All the upperclassmen except for the squad leaders and the Drum Majors ran off the field to do some good ol' Freshman watching, which is like bird watching, but better because half of them are scared out of their minds their squad leader will talk to them.

"Louder guys; be more vocal!" Ben said clapping out the tempo. "One, Two. One, Two, Ready Move!"

"TE, STEP!" WE hollered, freezing in our first step, like we had been taught.

"Good." Ben nodded. Melinda was waving over our heads. "Relax." Ben said watching who Melinda was waving over. "Drum Majors!" He shouted happily as Hilary and Drum Major ran over.

"Hey, Grant." Finally, now he's got a name. I thought. "Watch our squad." Said Melinda beaming at us.

" 'Kay." He said turning around to face us. Hilary smiled and began chatting with Melinda.

"Continuous twos." Ben ordered. We began to get into Set. Ben grinned at our efforts but cried out "Set!" anyway.

"'One, Two. One, Two, Ready Move!" Called Grant as he began clapping our tempo.

"Te, STEP TWO HALT! Te, STEP TWO HALT! Te, STEP TWO HALT!"

"And, Cut!" Ben shouted from somewhere behind us. "Turn around." We turned and got into Set. Grant motioned for Hilary to join him standing in front of us. "Alright, forward eight hold four. SET!" Our hands moved up as one. "One, Two. One, Two, Ready Move!"

"TE, STEP, TWO, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. HALT!" We moved into the halt and stayed motionless for four counts. Grant and Hilary stepped in between the lines to watch. I wasn't used to that and flinched a little when Grant moved in front of me before a halt.

"Halt!" I cried on the halt, worried I'd done something wrong.

"And, Cut!" Grant stepped up to me.

"Don't be afraid of the judges. Stay focused and don't alter your path for them." I nodded quickly, too frightened to speak at being adressed by the Head Drum Major. He smiled slightly. "All of you, did you hear that!" He called to the rest of the group. We all nodded. He turned to Melinda. "They're good." He told her, and he and Hilary went off to look at the group of Freshman Horns.

* * *

Next week, we had our very first Monday night rehearsal. We were very excited, because we had just chosen Band officers and Melinda was made Senior Representative and Band Queen to boot! Kristi got Sophomore Rep. and she was pleased. We were to learn drill tonight, whatever that was. Mr. Gorham explained that Grandioso would have an simple drill that everyone would march for our half-time band. Then, he said, we would have a Competition band that went to national competitions like this years two, Bands of America Arlington Regional and Bands of America Atlanta Super Regional. The Freshman smiled weakly at the prospect of marching in a huge dome with hundreds of people watching. 

"It will be amazing." Dillon proclaimed. "Hundreds of shiny white baldricks flashing in the bright Texas sun, fastened over the blood red uniforms and a bright silver baritone held delicately by white gloved hands..." He described in ecstasy. He flung his green 'utility' belt, which contained pouches for cleaning rags, Carmex, value oil and other assorted things, over his shoulder and brought his hands up in set.

"I didn't know you were into poetry, Dillon." Cody snickered. Dillon shook his head sadly.

"Cody, this is why you always have all the guys after you; They like the feisty blondes." Dillon mocked.

"Hey! Just cause I said I liked the gays, doesn't mean I am one! You would too, if you went to the Kathy Griffin Tour!" He crossed his arms over his chest.

"There is nothing like a boy and his unnatural love of Kathy Griffin." I noted sweetly. Cody was about to say something in return, but Dillon had already dragged him off to the Baritone section. I stuck close to my Seniors as they were dividing us. I had figured out, while Kristi is amazing and all, the Seniors know the right of way. Unfortunately, Mr. O'Kelly did not understand this and stuck me and Corie Jo with Kristi. Nice. But, thankfully, I was rescued by our section's overabundance, again, and I was moved next to Melinda.

We split the band into two, and Melinda, Metzger, Jennie, this really nice Senior flute and I all went to the far right side of the field as side A. Mr. Gorham placed us in intervals, which took about a half hour per side and we were to sit as soon as we were organized. I sat...and sat...and sat some more. Melinda was talking with Ben, probably about how they would save the world or something. Jennie was being Jennie, making the nervous Freshmen laugh with her from-the-block-attitude that we knew her best for. Metzger was throwing tiny rocks at me. I stared up at the top of the stadium press box that was facing the street, waiting for a signal from Mr. Gorham. Wes feel off his ladder in the back. Cars shouted lewd things at him. Even Grant looked bored, sitting down dangling his legs over the side of the platform. The sun began to set behind the Mid-High. (The Mid-High is across the street from the high school.)

Finally, just as the ground began to cool after being beaten up by the hot August sun, Mr. Gorham yelled, "EVERYBODY UP!" Wes fell off his ladder again. His Saxophone section said a silent prayer for Wes's safety as Grant began to conduct. We spoke to the rhythm of the Grant's arm movements.

"Dut...dut...dut, dut, dut, dut, TE STEP!" We moved for ward sixteen and then stopped, waiting for the next part. We kept going back, restarting, adding a new part until we made it to the end of the march.

"Alright guys. We've got a lot done for your first evening rehearsal." Freshman cheer feebly. "Let's do it once through." Seniors cheer manly. "Off the field, guys!" Mr. Gorham shouted happily as the Freshman tried to understand the concept of being told to get off the field...in a good way?

"Amanda!" The Senior flute yelled.

"Oh! Sorry!" I said sheepishly, hurrying to get in line. She smiled warmly at me.

"That's alright. I remember what it's like to be a Freshman." She said patting me on the arm. I grinned, hoping that was a good thing.

"Set." She said softly. I looked over the head of the trumpet boy in front of me to the Drum Major's platform to get the tempo.

"...dut, dut, dut, dut!" The first person in the line stepped off. I step off on...I thought panicked as I moved to the line. 17. I knew when we all went off.

"Mark-time!" Shouted Mr. Gorham as we all got into starting positions. "Sing your parts!" And this, was when I learned why most Band kids aren't in vocal. Jennie and I sang our notes in tune, like the great little choir kids we were, Metzger too, but everyone else...wow. Not good wow, though. We made it through, all the way to the second half when people forgot which way to turn exactly. I turned the right way, but the people in front of me, were not so lucky. They had forgotten who was to turn left and who was to turn right and people started falling down like dominos. Grant cut off quickly, but it wasn't like anyone was watching the Drum Majors's at this point.

"Cut! Cut! CUUUUTTT!!!" Bellowed Mr. Gorham. Everything came to a grinding halt, everyone looking around at the chaos around them. Mr. Gorham sighed heavily and told us to try again. Grant blew his whistle and everyone ran back to starting position just as Wes fell off the ladder for a third time.


	3. The Presidents's dance

A/N: Writers, a lot like Seniors feed off the fears of the Freshman, feed off of your reveiws. SO WRITE ONE! Do it for the starving writers:(

**Comp. Band draws nearer...**

After our, ahem, mishap, with the drill, we did get better. We practiced it nonstop and everyone began to get anxious for two big things: the annual "end of Pre band" band party and Comp. Band. Now, making Comp band your Freshman year, that was what kept us awake at night. I remember many a sleepless night thinking "Oh god! What am I gonna do if I don't make it! Surely death is worse than this!" In a sense, it would prove to be for the non-compies.

But, Pre Band's end was in site, and we reveled in the fact that our days of heck were slowly coming to and end. You could practically see the light at the end of the tunnel, which was the first football game. It was so bright and beautiful. We all-

"Okay! For a special treat, we will be doing relays." Mr. Taylor shouted into the mic. The upperclassmen grinned with pleasure. The Freshman shuddered, having a very faint recollection of what they were from the three-day marching clinic. I remembered clearly what they were. "An easy way for the directors to spot out your own personal mistakes on the back step, five to eight step and your counting skills."

"Oh joy!" I mumbled falling into place behind Kristi, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Yay!" She said softly. "These are fun, don't worry." She said sweetly to the Freshman surrounding her on almost all sides. When it came to Kristi, they knew just where to stand.

"CLICK! CLICK!" Came the dreadful noise of the marching block, an awful orange block Drum Majors or, more predominately, Mr. Taylor would hit to give the group a tempo when they were at set and couldn't see a director.

"CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK!"

"DUT, DUT, DUT, DUT! TE STEP TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, HALT!"

"TE STEP TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, HALT!"

"TE STEP TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, HALT!"

"TE STEP TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, HALT!" Roared the entire Pride of Owasso Marching Band. I came up to the line, noting upperclassmen on both sides and I wasn't the unlucky Freshman on the outside of the seven person line, and stepped off. Eight forward. Halt, turn around. Eight back. Halt, turn around Eight forward. The pattern went on, mind numbingly for ages, until we had crossed the length of the field.

"Go." Said Wes. showing us the next line where we would go back up the field, until we got back to our original lines. Then, the whole process would start over. We nodded dimly and ran to our spots. Sweat trickled down everyone's face and the guys began stripping off their shirts. Corie Jo was pleased. I was sickened because some of the low brass...well, let's just say some of them needed to keep their shirts on. I heard a girl whisper something about particularly nasty about Wes as he flirted with some of the Freshman Color Guard.

"Poor girlies." The upperclassmen said sadly, shaking her head at the scene. I sighed ad stepped up to the line.

"TE, STEP!"

* * *

After "Killer Relay" Day, we had the day that would later be deemed as "The Day Mr. Taylor tried to kill and embarrass all the Freshman at the same exact time by lining them up and making them march in front of the entire band" Day. And then there was the ever popular "Oh my god, we just did the Grandioso drill right! With music! faint" Day and the lesser know, "We just sent the almighty drill writer, Jack from Colorado, a sound clip of us playing part one, Yay?" Day. Oh, we also had "Squad Competition" Day, which unfortunately Ben had to miss. I won't go into detail but we were the runner up for best squad, beating the Horns and losing just barely to Saxophones, or Sexyphones, if your into the kinda stuff Dillon approves of. Anyway, Melinda was very proud of us. 

Before we knew it, the party had crept up on us! I hurriedly got home from school and dressed in the cutest new shirt and jeans I had gotten at the Central Arkansas mall back at Band Camp and decided that this party would be great. I grabbed my new camera phone from it's little stand, threw it in my band tote bag and rushed out the door. The Freshman were the "honored guest" but I still felt awful not bringing anything and a little worried how the "honored" part would come in with the gang. I got there early and hung out with Kristi. We watched Ben attack imaginary enemies with a broken off golf-club as the soundtrack from "The Matrix." blasted out of the speakers. He was quite intimidating.

Before Ben's awful day of absence due to his stupid Wisdom teeth (Which happened to be "Squad Comp." Day), he actually led morning warm-ups for Mr. Taylor a few days. He knew them all by heart and, honestly, was a lot harsher then Ben. The things we must due for our beloved Seniors! He also started the post-water break tradition. As everyone ran back out, we would slowly start clapping and screaming and then, just as the silence loomed, Ben would scream, "ONE, TWO THREE!" And, in jubilation of another hour of sweaty rehearsal we would scream in reply "BAND!" Moral of the story is, you don't get many chances to meet a "Ben" in your life, so when you meet them, befriend them and marvel in their extreme awesomeness.

Soon, despite his awesomeness, Ben soon got tired of ninjaing around the dance floor and gave in to the Band Council's pleas to put on dance music. The golf club got stolen later on that night. We never did figure out what happened to it, but Ben later said he hoped that it was being used for good at least. The music started thumping as more people started arriving. People jumped in the pool outside. Basketball games were stared and tennis matches as well. Foods of all kinds showed up behind the open bar style drink and snack area. I snagged a bit of Vault before it was sucked dry by the Freshman Color Guard and Wes. And the music started getting good. I had a friend that said the there was a really good-looking photographer and we were shocked to see that the photographer she was talking about was O'Kelly! When asked to explain, we discovered she had one to many N.O.S.es and was so out of it, she said something to her Ex about him wearing the cutest yellow dress.

"No one needs that much N.O.S." Cooper said sadly watching Corie Jo escort the poor girl to a table. We danced the night away to such songs like the old "band anthem", "Bohemian Rhapsody." and the YMCA.

Then, the seniors took over and said that it was time for the President's dance. Now, no one was surprised when Ben, Grant, and Isaac were elected band president. It was probably really just Grant elected "Actual" president, but no one cared for formalities, not even Grant, which was strangely out of character for him. They were all very close, which made the Freshman happy because they had something to aspire to, and the Sophomores because they can joke about "old times" from last year, and the juniors because they remember Grant being the youngest of four Drum Majors and the Seniors because they all grew up with the three. The directors adored them, and let them make speeches at every major event, of which Ben would provide the amazing tear-jerky spiritual part, Grant would actually smile and say how far we had come, and Isaac would stand there, throw some very choice words into both speeches, and stare pointedly at his section, daring them to talk through his part of their amazing senior speech. And as a senior explained how, normally, they had a...well, a girl to dance with, but this year they did not. Enter Grant, Ben, Isaac and Wes (Isaac needed a partner) dancing to a slow song. That was the longest song EVER! And the choreography was amazing, involving couples and group dancing styles and Ben got lifted off the ground, and Grant did, and Isaac, and Wes, all taking turns doing the girl part of the dances. They were all good, a little too good and every camera phone, including mine was snapping pictures. But the boys did not care, as they finished with their graceful leaps, pirouettes, turns and lifts with a randomly placed many armed hug. It was the strangest and most wonderful thing to see.

After the awesome display of guy love, Mr. Gorham was presented with a birthday card and an itunes gift card, because he already got a brand new iphone before Pre-Band had started.

We ended the night with a speech to leave the place better than how we had found it, and then the whole band trudged out for home.

* * *

Monday was our last rehearsal as a full band. Results were nearer by the minute and everyone was on edge. I went home that day, to nervous to eat anything and went back an hour and a half before results were to be posted Several other Freshman and a few bright-eyed sophomores were there already. Corie Jo refused to come early anymore, as she was revolting against the system. I believe she didn't like the section and dreaded doing girly things with them. Mr. O'Kelly's truck pulled in through the gates to the multi purpose. I could feel my breaths quicken and become more shallow. Kristi frowned at the display of general panic as Mr. O'Kelly tapped a few sheets to the wall. I walked over slowly, keeping my cool for the most part and raised a shaking finger to the list of names. Under flutes...I touched my name lightly. 

"Congratulations." Said Mr. O'Kelly somewhere behind me. I nodded and ran off to call my mother. The rest is a bit of a blur. I remember Melinda saying good job, and making friends with the nice Senior Flute player from the Grandioso drill, Gloria, who didn't do Comp. Band., and meeting my section as a whole. There was Jennie and Melinda, and Ashley, who I would grow very fond of, Morgan, a general queen bee, a gaggle of Juniors, several Sophomores, being Kristi, Jessica, Sarah, my new buddy P.J., and then there were all the Freshman but two.

I was thrilled and I went out that night and bought an index card book for my "Drill book" and we would get drill for our 2007 Comp. Show the first day of school. Rehearsals would be Monday nights from 5:00 to 7:00, Wednesdays from 2:30 to 5:00, Thursdays from 5:00 to 8:00 and we would have one and a half hour run through before football games on Fridays. I also learned that there would be doublers. My heart sank as he said a lot of Freshman will be doublers. Kristi said I had nothing to worry about, but I thought otherwise. I was always the one directors would run up to, to correct. I sighed heavily. We would also find that out when school started.

"One more day." Corie Jo said, who had finally shown up. WE played through Red Shades part one and we got Part two, which was namely solos. Mr. Gorham said that there would also be a part three. We worked through part two, and then, Mr. Gorham let us go, reminding us we had only tomorrows rehearsal left. We smiled grimly everyone anxious for doubler results. And school. How on earth are we going to be somewhere besides band for seven hours, counting Band class out of course. I shook my head as I got into my dad's truck. It was going to be a loooooong marching season.


	4. Freshman, your plume is on backwards

The meaning of "Doubler." 

After one more time consuming rehearsal, we through ourselves immediately into school and all the things in preparation. In honor of such things, we had the afternoon before the first day off. I remember attending the last day of freedom lunch with my mom in my marching shorts and a t-shirt. The next day, after some praise from Kristi and some of my new upperclassmen friends about finishing Comp. Band, I was ready for school. Or, at least I thought I was.

My bus never came that first day. I could feel a too familiar feeling begin to rise in me: panic. I always got so worked up over band ,and I still do. It's a thing. I ask every question, call everyone I know, follow in the example of the Seniors and freak out basically over everything. I have to be at a rehearsal ten minutes ahead of the rest of the band. It's truly insane, but I can still picture me running back up the hill, clutching the sling strap on my flute case, screaming for my mom to get the car.

Eventually, we got there, still early. The band room was not open yet, and there were some band people gathered on the marching field. I hopped out of the car and headed to the mass of people. I stood with some other nervous Freshman and looked around at the crowd. They were dressed just liked I'd seen them at the party: normal. Most of the Seniors and Juniors were not there, as they were in second hour Wind Ensemble, the best band in our band program. Exclusively for Seniors and a few lucky Juniors, they make no exceptions ,or trust me, Kristi would be in that class. My heart sped up when I realized everyone was carrying shorts and water bottles for rehearsal. I finally found Kristi.

"Hi Kristi." I said, thumbing my backpacks straps in nervous anticipation.

"Hey, you look cute today. Are you ready?" She asked excitedly.

"For what?"

"Well, rehearsal. Oh, and we get numbers today?"

"Rehearsal?" I asked, feeling my stomach clench.

"Yes, after school from 2:45 to 5:00, just like we always do. It starts today." It's okay. I said calmly to myself. You can just call mom, explain you heard the wrong information, and ask her to send your cloths and water bottle. No biggie. She wouldn't mind. I let out a deep breath.

"Numbers?" I asked. Kristi nodded.

"They tell you which dot you march."

"Dot?" I asked, feeling stupider by the minute, but Kristi had already left, spotting a group of confident looking Sophomores. I shook my head, more flustered than ever and called my mom with the news. It did end up being fine, so I snapped my phone shut, gaining a little more confidence back. Everyone was here now who was in first hour band. It was weird not seeing Ben or Melinda or Hilary or Grant or some other Senior monitoring the group. I saw Ashley, Jennie, Hannah and Krista off to the side, talking in hushed tones. I was curious, but knew to stay where I was. I may have been a Freshman ,but even I was not stupid enough to talk to the Older Flutes whenever they were talking about the Younger Flutes. Not anything bad, mind you, but they were definitely sizing us up. I did however glance over at them and was greeted with warm smiles. I smiled back . My section was kind to Freshman that did as they were told. Chantel and Kelsey were talking loudly with Wes and a few other Juniors.

After what seemed like forever, Mr. Gorham came out and lead us all through the commons and to the Band room. It turned out to be the only way to get there, as the Construction cut off the back parking-lot exit, the two High School exits, and the various Choir Room exits. In fact, the Choir Room and the Band Rooms were completely cut off from the school, the Construction linked the two rooms, the commons (on the right side of the end of the hallway) and then there was an expanse between the Commons and then the PAC turned out through gray double doors. You wouldn't even know the PAC connected unless you happened to use that door as a shortcut like we so often did in Pre-Band to get to the last full band rehearsal faster. We stepped through the double gray doors of the Band Room and were greeted with the smell of Valve Oil, Carmex, and the lemony fresh scent of Pine-Sol: Cleaning your underused-Construction mucked Band Room since 1978! I noted the familiar flute lockers, which were really wooden shelves with tiny spaces for cases, the old White-board used to write rhythms, announcements, schedules and playing order on, and the Hundreds of Chairs set out for us to sit in. Once again, sitting. Not something that's normal for us. I found a seat next to Sara and Jessie Kay and began to get anxious. PJ came and took a seat next to me.

"Nervous." She commented, watching my leg bounce up and down in an unrealistically paced rhythm.

"Ugh! The Torture!" I said, watching the Band Directors converse with one another behind the glass of the Band Office which conjoined the big and small Band Rooms. I could see the Sousaphones glittering on the other side and started counting values.

"PJ, I am so nervous, I'm counting! I hate math!"

"Girl, just take a deep breath. Everything will be fine . I don't think you have a lot to worry about. Amanda. Look at me." My leg stopped as Mr. O'Kelly steeped on the podium. The laughter and talking died out as he smiled out into the crowd.

"Roll-call." He said weakly, obviously having lost some Band Director Bet or game of Rock, paper, scissors. All 185 of us smiled as Mr. O'Kelly started at the begging of the alphabet. Familiar names were called and we made it through in record time, the Woodwinds sympathizing with the Woodwind Director. It did take the Tubas an awfully long time though, but fortunately for them, they weren't arranged by Section, so their Section was sparred retribution. After the dreaded Roll Call, Mr. O'Kelly moved onto something more important.

"Okay, without killing anyone, the numbers will be posted on the Whiteboards by the Clarinet lockers in a few minutes. If there is a star by your name...you are a Doubler." He said the word "Doubler" the way you might say "Died". I gulped, not feeling so sure of my placement. Corie Jo was laughing somewhere behind me. She had told me a hundred times she didn't care and that she probably wouldn't do Comp. Band her Sophomore year anyway. I saw the sheets posted and we were turned loose. I found my name immediately.

And...there was a tiny black star right next to it. I felt my throat tighten, but I looked to see who else was marching spot 36. Metzger. It was Metzger. I chocked back my surprise and walked numbly to the spot where the drill was written. That was the one of the worst Band Classes I can ever remember. From then on, it was confusion, learning to write down the drill was complicated, as every upperclassmen was to busy to care, including Kristi. I felt betrayed that my "Sophomore" who had so loving claimed me as her Freshman didn't take the time to notice I needed help, especially because I had asked her. But I got through. I couldn't speak to Metzger though. She was thrilled to get the chance, while I, once again, had expected something grander. And the one person who had actually said they would quit before, the one person who didn't care...got the only Freshman spot in the section. The general unfairness of it all made my head spin. All the extra practice, the times I had come early, my discipline in rehearsals, had totally been overlooked. I was devastated as I left the band room that day. "Don't worry." came out of the mouths of my older friends. "You'll be fine." But I wasn't fine, and I vowed I would not give up my spot, my 36, until I could truly say it was mine.

I cannot say this vow put me in a particularly good mood come 2:45. Not because of school. I had to face my section as a Doubler. I'd have rather get shot in my right arm than that, but I went anyway. No one said a word, but I felt bad, knowing I was one of the ones that wasn't good enough to get my own spot. And there are little things worse than having low self-esteem. Take that from me. I marched for about twenty minutes, and then Metzger went in. Instead of doing normal Doubler things, I did something different. I watched. I marked time. I played when the Band played. I stepped off. And then, after ten minutes, I was back in. This was how it went for the Rehearsal. I did spend the greater part marching, but it was harder to be the one running in and out when everyone else knew their spot by heart. I caught on, eventually, but that first rehearsal did a number on everyone. We left sweaty and tired, and everyone knew where they ranked.

* * *

Four Comp practices and one full band rehearsal later it was time for an annual rite of passage: the first football game. It did not cool down any for us, but everyone was excited, just the same. Flip-folders were passed out, white gloved finger tips were found littering the floor around the Flute and Clarinet lockers, heads were measured for hats, and uniforms were taken from their resting place in the back of trunks and under beds and slipped into bright red bags that read "PRIDE OF OWASSO" in a circle around the head of a ram, our school mascot. The Freshman still carried their uniforms in the thin plastic in which it came in, as the uniform bags were late.

In the afternoon of August Thirty-first, while the football players, cheerleaders, and various foot-ball game goers had gone home for some Pre-game down time, the band marched their "Grandioso" drill to perfection. Then, everyone rushed inside to grab their uniforms and dinners. As we were just cool, Mr. Gorham had rented out charter buses for the hour long drive to Stillwater. Corie Jo and I were excited to see Rachel, a fellow flute paler from Stillwater and I was happy to get the chance to see the band and my friend Pete as the youngest member on the Drumline.

We boarded the cool sanctuary of the buses and relaxed for a while in the luxury of air-conditioning that was so foreign to us after a summer of sweaty marching practice. I laughed as I captured a picture of Austin, my friend and newly assigned Percussion Buddy. He pouted and said something about me having to carry a lot, but then assured me he was only kidding. As the flutes had the lightest instruments, we were made to have a "Percussion Buddy", who we would carry a stand and binder and whatever else need for games. In essence, we were pack mules, but we didn't mind. We were a family. We were told a few minutes before we arrived to get into uniform.

"Uh...Okay." I said. I was one of the smart Freshman who had worn their shorts on the bus. Some girls in the back had not thought that far ahead and quickly stripped off their jeans and put shorts on. One of them wailed that no guy should look. Of course, everyone looked at the source of the noise, who yelped and dove behind a seat. Kristi shook her head at the display.

I pulled on the coal black pants quickly, zipping them up and snapping the brass colored shut.. Kristi showed me how to adjust the straps. I was still a little annoyed at her from the first day of school but did as she said with nervous Freshman obedience. Next, came the bright red coat. I buttoned the innermost button, which you wouldn't see anyway, then came the side zipper, the two snaps (Originally, there had been three, but after our 2005 Show "Fowl Play" some of the buttons had been ripped out due to a part of the show in which the band had produced flags out of their coats. Needless to say, they weren't exactly as careful as they should have been.) on the right side of the zipper, and then the most tedious part: fastening the clip at the top off the collar which most Upperclassmen fondly called "Cleavage".

"Your Cleavage in showing!" They would shout, causing a rustle of hidden laughter among the rookies. The Seniors would become livid if they caught the Freshman, but they never did. I fastened the hook and grabbed my case and hat box, which contained my shiny white marching gloves, my hat, and my flip folder. I then picked off my Buddy's Music Binder and ambled off the bus to the growing crowd of band members. I saw Hilary step off the bus in front of ours and saw her Drum Major uniform, white pants and white shoes worn under the regular coat with a baton sticking smartly out of the back of her collar for later use. She smiled at me.

"First game?" She asked gently. I nodded, not mentioning that there was the homecoming game that the eighth graders attend every year that I had gone to last year, because I had a feeling this would be an entirely different experience. She nodded back and went over to join Grant, Stacy and Wes, who was walking really, really fast to join the other Drum Majors. (It is a rule to never run in uniform.)

We were told to form one long line, with flutes last, to march into the stands. There would be no cadence to start us because we were late and the game had already started. We walked into the field and quickly got into the stands. Unlike the cool metal stands of our special section of the stadium, then were concrete and very uncomfortable, but no one noticed. We busied ourselves with Percussion Buddies, the Older Flutes screaming after the younger ones to hurry up. We hurried up the sides to the middle, handed off the music, and walked really, really fast to uncase our flutes for the warm-up.

After the warm-up, Melinda, our newly elected Section leader, checked for gloves and flip-folders. Flutes and Tubas were not required to get lyres like the rest of the band, so she didn't ask for them. I looked over to the Pride of Stillwater stands and felt my mouth drop. They were there, but their uniforms were only half-on, the coats hanging over the seats limply as they played the Stillwater school song. I inquired to Kristi about it, forgetting my anger in light of the other band breaking one of the uniform rules. Rule number one: you are either completely in uniform, or not wearing it at all. Kristi shrugged.

"Some bands are different." I nodded, wondering how anyone could disrespect their uniform in such a way. Mr. O'Kelly was handed a mic as he stepped up onto a Drum Major ladder. Some laughter was heard as the Freshman guard in front of us. unmercifully teased Wes, who was standing in the front of them with the rest of the Drum Majors.

"Alright, school song!" He pointed behind us to Taylor, lead snare and section leader of the Drumline.

"Tap, taptap, tap, tap!" Sounded out the drum. Mouthpieces banged up into at least fifteen mouths behind us at the last possible second. Other than that though, the song was alright and we played through "YMCA" and "Rocky Top" before Mr. O'Kelly pointed to Taylor for something else. The Drum started a cadence and we got up and chanted to it.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" We said waving our arms to one side and then the next. Then, we snapped across to our right and left and started again. Then, everyone jumped and alternated their right and left hand in a circler pattern and screamed "GO! GO, GO, OWASSO! GO, GO, OWASSO, GO, GO, OWASSO!" And the drums banged out the last measure, to which Ben shouted "HUH!" In the silence in the end. We all laughed as Ben and his Band Buddy, Philip had a loud strange conversation. These would become ritual at football games, as would Ben freeze framing spontaneously during different points in the game. We played a few more songs, and then, it was gloves on and hats on for our first half-time performance of the year. This was precisely the time I found out my hat strap was twisted and could not be repaired. And Gloria helped me get in on, as I freaked out because I didn't want to be late. I was lucky enough to have been warned about a Senior joke, which made Morgan sad.

"Your plumes on backwards!" She said as I pushed the soft black plume I had been handed into its hole.

"Plumes can't go in backwards." I said with out looking up.

"Darn it, who told her?!" Ashley laughed somewhere off to my right just as the tap, tap, tapping came from Taylor's drum. To top off the Hat Fiasco, I was also unprepared for Stillwater's field. It was not the soft flat turf with the tiny black beans under t I was so used to. It was a hilly, grassy, pot-holed mess, but I did alright. I marched my best, thrilled that in this march, I didn't have to worry about doublers. I smiled as we grouped off to the side to watch Stillwater. I felt so good, so amazed at what I had accomplished. An upperclassman patted me on the back as we took off our hats

"Good job, Freshman!" The Seniors whispered kindly.

"Watch out for that pot hole, babe." The Juniors said motherly.

"You didn't die!" The Sophomores commented rudely.

"Be quiet!" Mr. O'Kelly ordered.

After Stillwater's Performance, we cased up and went to get some food. The Band Patrons passed out drinks and I got some popcorn from the concession stand. The Stillwater band patrons congratulated us and Corie Jo and I went off to find Rachel. We found her quickly and talked of the still far off All-Region tr-outs and Band Camp and Marching Band. She was doing well as a Color Guard and she told us of the triumphs of Pete. She laughed when we told her we had mostly Freshman in our Drumline.

"Pete will be mad. He just said how disciplined that second biggest Bas Drum was, and the rest of the Drumline snickered." I laughed too.

"Austin! Ha!" I said recognizing him at the fact the Freshman was praised above his Senior counterparts. If only some of us could be so lucky. We said good-bye to Rachel and headed back to the stands. The night wound down in a spiral of stand tunes, cadences, a dicey performance of part ones music, the premier of the "Alma Mater" Mr. Gorham had written, and classic inappropriate jokes on the way home. We got back to the Band Room late, stumbled out of our uniforms, and went home, glad that the team won...or at least that's what they told us.


	5. When Prides Collide

**A/N:** I apologize in advance if anyone is offended in anyway for this chapter. These were mine and others words at the time and they may of may not have changed. If anyone has a problem with anything written in this, or any chapter for that matter, message me and I'll answer you honestly and truely. Don't talk about how I'm an awful person because of something I wrote. Just a message for those easily offended, I honestly don't think anyone will be offended on this website, but just to be safe...-A.L.D.

**When Prides Collide**

Over the course of the next week, I grew closer with my section. "Don't worry. Everyone was a Doubler at one point." Jennie would remind me. Ashley and I became close through her stories of World War II class and how she sat behind Grant. We cracked jokes involving Nazis all the time, because our show was titled "Red Shades: Russian Masters Revisited." Though we both knew that Russia didn't really have any Nazis...Krista was very helpful and sweet, Hannah was kind-hearted and hung around Sarah, who was very shy, and Morgan would make blunt observations about people at times that were so obviously true, we had to laugh. Melinda would watch over us all to make sure we didn't do anything to get us singled out and she was a very good leader. Everyone looked up to her, with her amazing marching technique and her shining personality. Kristi, Jessica, and PJ never marched near me, so I rarely saw them, as is the way of the drill sometimes. I also noted that Chantal and Kelsey, while they were funny and sweet, tended to talk a lot. I went on, fulfilling my duties as a Doubler diligently and smartly, never missing a beat in the discipline is was known for. And everything was right with the world. Well it was, until our first Comp practice on the "real" field.

It was getting dark outside when we moved to the stadium to practice. Now, you can say what you want about your football field, but ours is really nice. It has one big "Home" side of shiny silver bleachers, one smaller "Visitors" side, and off by the digital score and Ad board, a big row off bleachers far off from the two sides with big red letters reading "PRIDE OF OWASSO". Our turf was great too, soft, bouncy, and full of these little black beady things the upperclassmen called "Beans", that stuck to your socks and cloths. We were told to get on the field and go straight to set one. I hurriedly got in position and bounced up slightly on the turf like the silly Freshman I was. I would be the one marching the first home game of the year, against Broken Arrow, or just BA, as I came to know them. We would be performing "Red Shades" for the first time and BA would also be debuting their show, "Phantasy". Apparently, BA had just won the title of Grand National Champion so that made them the best band. I remember how excited I was to meet them, but Ashley talked me out of it quickly.

I had approached the warm up block, ready to start a good rehearsal like always. Ashley and several other section members were sitting down talking. Many off the band were not out of the Band Room yet, and the twenty or so members that were, were doing the same thing in their area of the warm up block.

"Hi, Ashley. Are you excited to hear BA?" Ashley gave me a funny look.

"I don't like BA."

"What? Why?"

"They are a bunch of cocky snobs." She said, her nose wrinkling at the mere thought of the other band. Hannah shook her head.

"I have a BA story. The only one I remember, is we were praying before a rehearsal, and it was a contest that we were allowing all the other bands to share our Band Rooms, right? Well a bunch of BA kids were laughing at us and calling us names┘yeah, that certainly marked them for me." The other flutes nodded. Several other BA stories were exchanged, with everything from BA kids "accidentally" cracking reeds to mocking Owasso Band members directly in front of them, they were all equally appalling.

"Be careful about them, Amanda." One of the Older flutes advised. I nodded, tucking this new information away for later use.

Grant was climbing up on the podium, just as Metzger was running out on the field.

"Uh-oh." I said as she ran over to me.

"Amanda!" She called. She stopped in front of me and we stood face to face. "I'm going to be marching this week, as I'm leaving on a cruise next week." She told me. I opened my mouth to say something but she had already taken the spot where I was supposed to be standing.

"But..." My words feel on deaf ears. I had no choice but to go off to the sideline. I felt hot tears form, but pushed them back, refusing to admit defeat. I could always talk to Mr. Gorham...and just make this whole thing a bigger mess.

"What's wrong, Amanda?" Asked Kaitlyn, a Freshman Trumpet Doubler.

"Nothing...my Doubler took my spot."

"Oh...it will be alright, Amanda. You'll get to march at Homecoming next week. And plus, BA's overrated." Kaitlyn said kindly. I nodded, still numb from the disbelief I had inside of me that I had been lied to by the person who was supposed to be my friend. She never competed with me before, I thought as I marked time, played my instrument, and counted steps. What gives her the right to make the decision for the both of us. I have equal rights to the spot. That rehearsal was so long. It almost seemed like the Band Directors were dragging it out to make me feel even worse, watching someone else march the spot I had rightfully claimed for the fist home game of the year.

Friday afternoon, Doublers were not made to go to the run through. I saved myself the agony of standing off the sideline with nothing to do, just like the previous nights rehearsal. Instead, I went home, got my brand-new hanging bag ready by adding my jeans and red "Pride of Owasso" polo shirt to it: our rainy weather uniform/summer parade uniform. It was a good thing I did. I showed up early, as usual, and hung out with my friends, waiting for news of the forecast for that night: Regular uniform? Polos? About twenty minutes to go, the Band Room floor was completely red and black. Mr. Gorham stepped out of the office and onto the podium. Dead silence came immediately.

"It looks like rain guys. You better break out the polos and jeans." All two hundred and fifty members of the Pride of Owasso nodded with finality and started stripping down to get into their jeans. Soon, everyone was unhappily dressed in their red polos, gazing forlornly at their hanging bag containing their marching uniform. We marched out to a cadence as usual. The members of the Drumline gritted their teeth as lightning flashed above their heads, clutching their metal instruments. We got into our stands and uncased our instruments.

"STAND!" Mr. O'Kelly barked as the Pride of Broken Arrow took to our field for the Pre-game show. Their show was good, but all eyes looked for imperfections, as is a good marching student's job. Their uniforms of white and black seemed to glow in the harsh light of the stadium lights, making them seem even more spectacular. But I couldn't get over what the announcer had said: "The best band in the land..." Ashley snorted at this. "...the Grand National Champion of the world...THE PRIDE OF BROKEN ARROW!!!" The visitor crowd had gone insane at the words the didn't understand. But they understood one thing. These guys were better then Owasso, and that was all that mattered. Smirking, the band marched into the stands, plumes erect and shimmering.

"Aren't they gonna take their hats off?" Asked a Freshman clarinet behind us.

"No." Kristi grumbled.

"Their school has enough money to buy them new plumes if they need them."Ashley stated. Mr. Gorham looked at the sky warily.

"Alright guys, it looks like the rain's going to hold out. We are going to get into our uniforms in an ORDERLY fashion. Freshman, go first." He gestured to the ramps out of the stands and we scurried away. I was the first in my uniform and watched to make sure no one did anything stupid.

"Don't run in uniform!" I hissed as a Freshman Trumpet player broke into a jog. They immediately stopped.

"BA." They muttered. I could feel the entire band's eyes boring holes in the back of my head.

"The same to you." I said under their harsh stares. We got back into the stands just as the Drumline finished a lively cadence. I frowned.

"They did a cadence?" I whined to Tristen, a very nice junior.

"Well anything we could get in, babe. BA's blocking us out." Mr. O'Kelly had a sort of code of conduct for pep tunes at football games. He would never play a song while another band was playing, except the school song, if we happened to need it. The football song could be played as many as thirty times in one game, with enough provoking. At this Mr. O'Kelly hurried to call another pep tunes out.

"Uh...Uh...LET'S GO WITH 'LETS GET IT STARTED!'" Mr. O'Kelly shouted. He glanced over his shoulder quickly before starting off, worried at the sound of silence from the competitive band. "One, Two-" Out of no where, BA launched into "Eye of the tiger."

"Ugh!" Screamed a bass clarinet.

Ashley shook her head.

"I swear they are evil...but not in the Nazi way." I nodded sympathetically.

"Mmmhmm." Jennie agreed.

Soon, everyone was in uniform. Mr. Gorham smiled at his kids, all dressed up in their pretty red uniforms. Owasso was behind when everyone left for the half-time show. I remember sitting in the stands that night, hating myself for not being out on the field. The performance itself was god, and BA clapped accordingly. I however, was on the receiving end out several rude hand gestures from some of the BA students. As if I wasn't feeling bad enough. Everyone pilled pack into the stands.

"Itwasgood." I murmured when Kristi asked. Couldn't she see I was hurt enough for one night without giving her the blow-by-blow of how in set five, half the section was out of step, or how hardly anyone in our section was watching the Drum Major. Ashley flew into a passion when I told her about BA's...other fingerings.

"WHAT?! We gotta tell someone...tell O'Kelly, he was always fond of you. Ooo, they won't get away with this one..." She noted, searching around for aforementioned director.

"Ashley..." I began. I had never disobeyed an Upperclassman. "Maybe we should let this one go." She looked at me.

"Alright...but tell me if they do it again...who do they think they are?" She muttered. I heaved a great sigh as I glanced at the score board. It just wasn't a good night for Owasso. A loud crack of thunder appeared in the sky over the stadium and, as if to make the night worse for us, it began raining.

Soaking wet, we filled out of the stadium for third quarter. I remember we did start having a good time, buying food from the Band Patrons at the stands, who told us how good the show was. Kristi introduced me to Bethany, the new flute from Illinois. I smiled politely, even though Bethany would end up becoming one of my closet friends. We went back to the stands earlier then the Pride of BA, because we wanted to actually play some music. I looked at the score board.

"Hey! Look at that!" My section turned and gazed up at the score board.

"We might catch up yet!" Cried a trumpet who was walking up to the top of the stands. It was still raining as BA came back to the game for the final quarter. They immediately clashed with us. We were playing through "Carry on my Wayward Son." when they started through "The Hey Song." Mr. O'Kelly glared at the rudeness of the other band.

"Ooo...look at him! This is war." Said Corie Jo. And it was. "DEFENSE!" Roared the Band, jumping from their seats as the game came our way. Instruments were thrust into the air in fury, the rain pelting us with cold droplets of water. We played every song we knew, and some we didn't. The flutes made circular patters with the ends of their instruments during the trills in "Big Red." Finally, the game was tied as the bell rang out across the now silent stadium. Our very wet spirit towels flew overhead in jubilation.

"We're not there yet!" Mr. O'Kelly shouted, only to have everyone shout back,

"OWASSO! RAMS! OWASSO! RAMS!" The teams looked tired, but we knew they almost always are, but BA's Band however, was really taking a beating. Their shimmery white plumes sagged under the weight of the ran and they sat tired, barely able to muster the energy to play their school song. WE hit them hard those last few minutes, with the Tubas's first performance of the "Hokey Pokey." After which, we blasted through the school song seven times, and jumped on our seats, instruments flashing, whopping war cries and screaming revenge on the other team if we did happen to loose. Our team took the cause, and brought as to the pinnacle of the game: Owasso's chance to score a field goal. They were on our end, at our post. The crowd was unearthly quiet, no screams of "Boo!" or "Go!" could be heard. The area around the two teams seemed to glow with their impulse to rip one another apart. It had all came down to this. Every member of the Pride of Owasso, including the directors closed their eyes. Grant and Wes threw there hands up at the last minute. Wait! Why are they doing that-

All thoughts of doubts were silenced as the Drum Majors caught the winning ball.

"OH MY GOD, WE WON!" Screamed half the band. We hugged everyone we could get our hands up and screamed to the heavens as our team rushed over. Grant threw them their ball back. We played the Alma Mater like it was our last, and then rushed, and I mean rushed, through part one. BA had to stay all through the while, heads hanging in defeat. Their director glared at them like the losing score was their fault. At that moment, I felt compassion towards our greatest competitor, thinking of how their thirty minute ride home would be. Grant frowned as no one watched him. Mr. Gorham looked uneasy too, but pushed the feelings aside because we had played the Alma Mater so well. You win some, you some, I guess. We were told to dry off our uniforms, dry out our instruments, and get some sleep.

"At home!" He reminded the students, even though we all knew people would be sleeping in the band room soon anyway.

"Greatest. Game. Ever." I told Kristi.

"Yep. It sure was." She nodded cheerfully. We passed BA on the way out.

"Good show." A few of them said, looking over the top of our heads.

"You too." Said an Upperclassman nicely. They replied with a gruff "thanks" and continued loading their expensive, one-of-kind truck. It was extremely nice, with a picture of the band in formation and a guard member and a band member posed on that as a background. I sighed again. They were still BA, but a beaten BA at that. I didn't exactly know where to stand on the band. I talked to Morgan about my feelings toward them.

"Well, Amanda...you've got four years to figure out where you stand." I nodded. I certainly didn't care much for their behavior, but they were very good. And those guys didn't have to say we were good. I put the thoughts to rest, deciding i would find out for my own of the other Pride's true nature in years to come. I went to the Band Room, stripped down to my shorts and headed home for some well deserved rest.


	6. Homecoming Hyperness!

A/N: Just when you'd thought I was gone, I bounced back. Sorry about the hiatus, but it's been crazy here, what with DM tryouts. But I promise, more PotP is on the way. Enjoy!

**Skin the Zebras!: Homecoming. **

True to her word, Metzger was not at Comp practice the following Monday. It felt strange, not running out of the group at any random moment to have my Doubler replace me. Those first few days were hard. But, it slowly became easier. The flutes got used to me being there that week. They would tell me things that would make a move easier, like if I should back into the spot or something of that nature.

Everyone was pumped, so incredibly pumped for Homecoming. The team we were playing, was Claremore. They were rumored to be an easy team to play, so no one was worried. We were told we were going to the school song in three, which meant incredibly slowly while they did all the homecoming fuss. We were also to play the National Anthem, the Grandioso Drill, the Fight Song, and, finally, Red Shades 1-32. I was so excited! But after nineteen, things got complicated. We practiced relentlessly, determined to make it good, for our Seniors, of course. They positively radiated with Senior glow all that week.

"Our last homecoming and all." They reminded us. "It should be special." All of the Underclassmen, especially the Freshman wordlessly agreed. Part One, 1-32 was toughly learned by Friday, much to the Flute Section's dismay. You see, we crossed the Front Sideline and had to push our shoulder all the way back. And then, we split the line and go into two rows for the ending. Each section member in in a sort of window and, as we were in the back row, we had to be in an insane spot in an insane amount of time, so Mr. Taylor had to fix it for us, in the mean time, we had to do a thing called Jazz running. It was pretty hard to wrap my mind around, but I managed.

Star sections began emerging as well. I remember the best two, in my opinion, being the horns and the tubas. Horns especially, never were called out in traditional drill work during rehearsals. I mean, sure a couple were called out during fundamentals, but that's just because they needed some extra help. But they were so strong and confident in their moves. And they all sounded good too. I remember wishing our section would stop chatting about how much the hated rehearsal sometimes. But, on the whole, they were like a second family, so it would be like yelling at an older sister to shut up when you, as the youngest, had no say in everything. I dropped it, seeing as it wasn't a huge problem and it really wasn't my place.

"Hey, Amanda, try backing into that one." Krista said quietly as we ran back to our spots. I did as she had said, marveling at how much easier it was.

"Wow, thanks! That's so much easier!" I replied cheerfully as we breaked for water. She smiled.

"That's what I'm here for."

We _were_ a family, I thought, and we needed to function as a unit. But then again, Seniors made and enforced the laws. It was a bit of a hypocritical system, but somehow, it made perfect sense. You see, when you are a Freshman you do everything you are told to the best of your capabilities, and absolutely nothing else. When you are a Sophomore, you befriend the Freshmen due to the fact you were there only months ago. When you are a Junior, you gain a small bit of power and think the Freshmen to be "cute". And when you are a Senior, you are practically a god and everyone willing bends to your commands. Though, abusive Seniors were practically nonexistent, so you couldn't complain about that. Everyone followed the rules…except for one Freshman. Corie Jo always was for equality, and would have nothing to do with such a system. The Seniors were furious and confused as to why the only real Freshman flute player that had her own spot wouldn't listen. But she stuck with her ideals, which, I admit is admirable. But not in Marching Band, I suppose. But, yet again, it wasn't a problem yet, so it was ignored.

After a long hard week and a breathless Pep Rally, it was time for Homecoming. It was a super sized night for us. We were marching pre-game with "Grandioso" and then, playing a slow School Song "in three" as they announced Homecoming candidates. Then, the fight song, the national anthem, and a final round of the fight song. Kristi warned us about the pre-game events.

"It hurts and it sucks, and you'll hate it." She replied when I asked her about it.

"I hate it all ready" Proclaimed Corie Jo.

"Ughhhh." Cried a trumpet player.

"Sounds not-fun." Said random clarinet player.

"It's tradition." The Senior flutes stated. So we warmed up and took to the back sideline. Amid the homecoming excitement, Claremore's, uh…"Pep Band" shouted out what they would do to our mothers and went into great details about how they would use our horns as bathrooms. That's the nice way of putting it. We, being the professionals we are, stifled our laughter at the awful stupidity behind us and focused on the task ahead of us. We marched through Grandioso and most of the pre-game tunes as the sun began to slip behind the landscape. It was kind of picturesque…for the normal people who weren't dying on their feet and playing the national anthem at the same time. After what seemed like eternity and judgment day had passed, we played the fight song and marched off. The band patrons told us we did good and then we collapsed into the bleachers.

The rest of the first quarter passed in anticipation of the halftime show, which was thirteen sets more than the previous week. My heart beat wildly in my chest and my fingers twitched nervously. It seemed like we had only been in the stands for a minute when we were called down for warm ups. I jumped out of the stands and grabbed a fluffy mass of plume from Danielle on the way down. At this point, my breathing was slightly shallow, but not from fear, I realized as I got in the little flute circle.

I was excited now. Melinda grinned. I couldn't help but feel a slight pang of guilt as she spoke of traditions and family. This was her last and my first homecoming game. It was completely irrational to feel guilty, but I did anyway. Kristi beamed and stood tall as she taught the Freshman the flute good luck ritual. Our good luck ritual consisted of forming a fist, locking pinkies with another flute, and kissing into the fist.

Soon we were lined up, watching the Pom squad prance around the field. But in this strange universe, what had to be a five minute show was condensed into five seconds, and the next thing I knew, I could hear Joanne, a senior Tuba, whisper, "Right in front, but wait to step onto the line…" Morgan steeped onto the line and I did to. And then there was nothing. No crowd, no teams, no fear. Nothing but the buzzing lights of the stadium, shinning over the ram logo and the steady beat of the drums.

We stepped off, the very first people on the field. My mind raced, thinking of all the lessons I had learned. Hips tucked under, chin elevated, roll from the heel to the toe. Grant took his podium, tall and proud. I could hear Mr. O'Kelly's voice announcing the name of the show, "Red Shades: Russian Masters Revisited!" Now, came the silence. Grant's arms snapped to attention. They fell once, and then:

"Horn's up!" Roared the Pride of Owasso. My mouthpiece was warm and ready to go. I knew that night, I would make mistakes. And like the Freshman I was…I did. But I could certainly feel the energy. The good, secure feeling of synchronized movement, the steady pulse from the Drum Majors, the music from our horns, swirled around in a vibrant display of color, showmanship and artistry that made the Pride of Owasso field shows so remarkably familiar. And I loved it all. I was practically vibrating as I came off the field, despite the awful sweaty feeling as we Stripped off our hats and gloves. The Seniors looked pleased. The crowd certainly enjoyed it, but they weren't who mattered. Everyone, as if on one mindset, cast a sidelong glance at Mr. Gorham. Nothing, he was an emotional rock. We knew it as so he could properly discuss the issues in a more private setting, but it didn't keep a few disgruntled Sophomores from snorting.

The rest of the night passed in a happy blur. Owasso creamed Claremore, I remember that. And Cameron took tons of pictures. And the concession stand had lots of it own money go back into it, as the band kids put their parents money back into the place where their parents were working to put money into their account. Either way, the pizza was still great. We played the school song a bunch, dance to a half a dozen cadences and the tubas played the hokey pokey. In addition, our section grew fond of discussing Nazi warfare, talking about the eighth graders who were coming soon, and speculating mistakes, an activity I'm considering majoring in. (That's why I'm going to be a music major! .)

Little did we know, our troubles were soon from over. I went home feeling accomplished. You know, that crazy high after a marching practice where you want to scream something along the lines of, "I love being a band kid!" or "I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care how nerdy it is!" Sort of makes you wonder why marching season is considered Band mating Season…but never mind all of that now. What was apparent now was the Freshmen completed Homecoming Night, and it was time to get to work.


	7. Invitational Immersion

A/N: Somewhere in this story, my younger sister yells out something that may sound like it's been censored, but it hasn't. To defend her honor to the judging masses, she actually said what is written, which is way funnier than a swear word. By the by, I'm looking for a brilliant May finish in time to present it to my soon to be graduated Band buddy. Anyway, here's Chapter Seven. Remember that reviewing makes a reader healthy, happy, and not in 13th place at Grand Nats. Semi Finals!

**Invitational Emersion**

I think I noticed the changes in the band as the season progressed. We were given the slips for the Comp Band trips to the BOA Regional in Arlington and the Super Regional in Atlanta. It was the crowning achievement of the 2007 season and would cost a mildly non-disturbing fee of three hundred dollars. What can I say, Mr. Gorham is a very, very good organizer. Metzger was the only one to not turn in hers. Unfortunately, the policy was, everyone turns one in, or no one goes. We stared at Mr. Gorhamin horror as he said that someone didn't turn one in, but he assured us we would still go. This incident did, however, led to her removal from Comp band and I had a rather strange conversation with Mr. Gorham immediately after all of that.

"Yes, you've got the spot." He said with his normal smile. He is a very kind and merciful band director/god, so it wasn't like the situation with Metzger came from spite. I understood it was something he had to do. But by that point, I was depressed that Metzger couldn't even come on the trip. Even though we fight occasionally, we were still friends, and it was sad, sad thing. Winning the spot turned out to heighten my nervous freshman super-senses to the point where I could have a nervous freshman breakdown at any point (I never actually did though.)

Yet despite my sadness, I knew it was time to get down to business. You could see it on everyone. The Seniors senior glow radiated through the band room as the student leading kicked in for the late blooming Seniors. But while they were amazing and half of them seemed like demy-gods, they weren't invincible like we all thought.

Amy, a pretty and cheerful Bass Clarinetist took ill during the season and missed some precious moments of her Senior year. And poor Grant would have to miss conducting his Senior Night Halftime show due to a kidney stone. Nearly every girl cried that night. But as life goes, we move on and recover.

We were hitting the middle of the season hard, trying to learn everything on time. Frustration was causing fatigue and laziness was causing even worse things. I can not tell you how unmotivated some of my friends felt going into the BOA Preview Owassohosted on still, warm day in September. The contest-type event went well, all the bands excited to be there. We picnicked outside of the high school with the out of town band kids, playing host.

And later that night, we were to take the field. It was new for all the Freshman. We stretched in our parking lot, but in uniform. We warmed up, in uniform. It was like a reversed Friday night football game. Then, came our special contest pep talk in which the question of our favorite color is always thrown out by Mr. Gorham, which is met by the all-too-eager bloodthirsty cry of "RED!!" After that, we lined up to march into the stadium.

As we were lined up, Mr. O'Kelly picked out his "kids" in the Freshman class and said little motivational things to them. He would come by once and mention a single phase about a deficiency we'd talked about In my marching. I would nod, trying to look intimidating, powerful and knowing at the same time. It probably looked more like I was in pain though. Then he'd come back and pat me on the back and say something inspiring. And then he'd start hugging random Freshman. And even though no one but me would ever say it, Mr. O'Kelly is part of the reason we ever felt like we did good, even on the bad days. He inspired us to keep going, or at least he inspired me. I was confident for the first time that night that I would nail set number 27's direction change or whatever. He believed in me, so I believed in me too.

So that night, we went out in exhibition. It wasn't the best performance of the show, but everyone seemed to think it was a start. All in all, the BOA performance was truly my wake up call.

But we had no time to relax after that, because the annual Owasso Invitational was the next weekend. The Owasso Invitational was a big deal for us. All the big schools came to compete. Everyone was supposed to be there. Bartlesville, Bixby, Stillwater, Union, and of course, BA. All the Band Students worked to help operate the massivemarching contest. I signed up to work concessions, because P.J. assured me it was fun, but productive, work. So early the following Saturday, I pulled up to the already buzzing campus. My shift still didn't start for some forty odd minutes. I pulled on my too-big invitational crew shirt, put on my named tag and headed for the ticket booths to hang out with the other early arrivals.

Cameron waved at me as I nearly got run down by a golf cart. I smiled at him and we started what had to be the longest conversation about Marching band competitions ever, all about Grand Nationals and L.D. Bell, our favorite to take the title from BA, in the upcoming championship. I also got the full picture on "Fowl Play" and the previous years show, "Bells and Whistles". But the best band gossip to go around that day was the show shirt.

Now, I'm a musician who doesn't really take to heart what outsiders think of my band or my choir, so it doesn't phase me when I hear assorted kids, teachers, and government employees say the band is a cult. But apparently, our shirts had to be redesigned because their was an accidental swastika imprinted on it. Just because the flute section has a Senior who really likes her World War II class doesn't mean were all Nazis! So as all the shouts of "Racist!" finally died down, I said goodbye and went off to start my shift.

At first, it was slow and grueling, like you waiting for some family of ten to come by and want hotdogs or something so you'd have an excuse to do something. Hmm. It's kind of nice to write down a truth that makes band kids look real good, but it's just that. We don't like to stand around all the time like normal teenagers. We want some action… just not the kind of action a normal teenager wants.

But eventually, it speed up and I was running apples through a corer, while taking orders, while handing someone a soda, while making some nachos. The two hours moved along quickly. Afterwards, I browsed the band patron run stands, bought a t-shirt and a color guard bandana and then went to check out the bands for a while. The looming threat of heading home to get my uniform was a real thorn in my side that day, so I called my mom to pick me up in the parking lot of the old Albertsons A.K.A., employee parking! I start out for the parking lot, watching the various bands warm up. As I cross the street, I feel the strange sensation of being watched. I turn around, expecting one of the guys had followed me on his way to McAllister's or something and planned to "surprise me" but instead, I was met withbright white and black uniforms. I walked faster. My mom pulled up as I watched the Grand National Champion band warm up, each member focused on winning at all costs. I could admire the feeling, I thought with a smile. I was taken from my dreams to the cries of my sister.

"Broken Arrow, what the fudge?!" Sara exclaimed, thinking we were supposed to be rehearsing today. At least seven heads turned at the noise and I hollered for my mom to drive and drive fast.

It turns out, my downtime turned into a nightmare when I had issues upon arrival with my uniform. But eventually, everything worked out and we all suited up in the good old multipurpose building. We mobbed into a tight wad near the stadium exit. Mr. Harris explained we were reaching the pivotal point in the season where the competitions were coming at us and we needed to focus. From there, the Senior Class kicked in. Grant, Ben, and Isaac really rallied support among the classes, smiling and explaining what we needed to do, what to focus on and to be confident. The other Seniors took turns. I think their was a little bit of crying, but it felt a little sad. I can only imagine how it felt to know it was your last Owasso Invitational.

Though rather than dwindle under the pressure of sadness for the strong and amazing Seniors, we went out, as Mr. Harris likes to call it, 'kicking tail and taking names'. The energy was there, it was a great hometown-y crowd and we were the last of the night. I remember thinking afterwards, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, we did it!!" Kristi jumped up and down and hugged me. We knew there were things to work on. We wouldn't be us if we thought there wasn't anything, but we took solace in the fact that the Pride of Owasso was ready to fight.

We all went up into the stands after wards to see the awards. At the Owasso Invitational, the drum lines come together to play a cadence as the competing bands march out to get the awards. But I hold the opinion to this day, that every band kid should dance to at least on cadence in their lifetime. You think you can't do it because you can't dance or you think you'll look stupid but truthfully, it's all just one big geeky party. You can barely tell a Drum Major from a Doubler at those times. We jumped across the stadium seats in rhythm, did strange dances, and chanted a lot. It was crazy and exciting and fun. Mr. Gorham simply shook his head and I almost could hear him say, 'Oh, sorry, my kids gotta hold of some Mountain Dew…' to some other parent.

The awards were slow and drawn out, just like any good marching contest, though I can't remember if the famous BOA quote was added in. You know it by heart. "But all of you are winners in life.' It never fails, honestly, that there is someone, in some band, at some competition, biting the inside of their cheek as that is being said, but you get the point. BA won, which was not surprising. We were scheduled to go to their invitational the following Saturday, which would be our first non-exhibition performance f the season. Word got around as we bounced up and down the bleachers. Apparently, everyone would be there, from as far away as Branson and it was a big deal just like ours. I had a feeling we were going to be okay as I left that night, if not just a little stressed the next week.

The next week turned out to really divide the straight up band kids and the Band/Choir hybrids. You saw All-District music lying in the band room, which was the District Honor Choir most of the hybrids, including me, loved and tried out for every single year. It happened to be on the same day as the BA Invitational this year. Apprehension wrenched my gut as I woke the next Saturday. My schedule included a early tryout, then across the way to the early morning practice, then bus over to BA for prelims, then bus back for extra crunch time rehearsal on the new sets, then bus back for finals. It was crazy, but I was feeling good as I tucked a few confused seventh grade sopranos under my wing at tryouts and got to see the Senior Band/Choir hybrids being their awesome selves. I felt confident in my tryout and made it to the rehearsal before mostly everyone. Everything ran smoothly, from the bus ride to BA, to the packed lunches, to the prelims. I had no idea how big their stadium was until I saw it. No wonder DCI made their stop there every year. It had an elevator! Prelims went fairly well, and the contest was very organized. I was especially happy for the little water cups we got before we went on the field. Their were tiny and refreshing, because I was hyperventilating J

I was nervous for results for both the honor choir and the finals and Melinda got sick and had to take her coat off. Or course Mr. Gorham allowed her to do that, so we were very concerned for our Section leader. The Section was bonding over small and big things like from getting our baldrics (shiny things that look like sashes… but more manly… that make mistakes more noticeable… but are really fun to put on.) to having an inner section pre-contest pep talk in which the Freshman were told they were doing good and the Seniors shared important advice.

We passed Prelims and went home to practice. That was the probably one of the best rehearsals all season. We were pumped up, it was a b-e-a-utiful day to be outside, and the directors were ready to get after it. We learned the end of the show that day and how to jazz-run for real. It was really hard not to bounce at first, but I was determined to get it right. "Part Three" was very different from the soft and slow "Part Two" and showcased some amazing woodwind soloist. Who but Mr. Gorham would make Bassoon players feel at home in the pit? The man is a genius.

We split rehearsal in half for snack time/drill writing time. Their was tons of snacks like bananas, crackers, Doritos, pretzels and cookies. It was really funny, especially to think of Mrs. Gorham buying all the food. The rehearsal was probably the fastest I had ever gone through as well. And through a relay race of cell phone calls, I found out on the bus back to BA I had made it into the honor choir. I remember happily telling my friends was that was all I needed to make it the perfect Band/Choir hybrid Saturday. That being only, if we won finals.

From there, we had the world famous "chicken chunks" for dinner outside in the parking lot. They were great, but what was better was everyone crowding to watch prelims on a tiny plasma screen hooked up to the instrument trailer, even when it had no sound. Then, we went out and did our thing. I remember lining up in class order for the awards, smiling and looking serious a lot, drinking my body weight in water, saving my plume and flute from getting weight but tucking them into my coat, and greeting the other bands as the winner.

Everyone was thrilled and we got to bring home a huge glass 'candy dish' home. It was really the prefect day…well almost. The only thing that burned us was our score. A lousy seventy-nine. I knew we had flaws, but that score frightened me. In three weeks time, the scene would be the Georgia dome. The mood was light on the way home, but a question lingered in everyone's brain, even after the great rehearsal and the great day. Will we be ready in time?


	8. Of Arlington and Infighting

A/N: I know I'm poping this chapters out like a writer on something, but I have a deadline to meet. Grauation is in a few weeks and this _is_a present for my seniors. And I only have 2 chapters left. I don't fee lany regrets in posting this here, because I wasn't in it for the reviews. You all are busy enough on your own without reading my rambelings, but a very heartfelt thank you goes out to **FervrentxXxMPGirl** for taking the time to write one. Other than that, here is chapter eight!

**Tensions, Tempers, In-fighting and the almighty Jack.**

The week following BA Invitational was a scary and awful. Tension was the least you could say walking in that Band Room Monday morning. That was also the first week Mr. Taylor yelled. He screamed at an upperclassmen and I. I was shaking from head to toe and an apology tripped out of my mouth as soon as we took a break. Mr. Taylor was taken aback though, to my surprise. He told me he wasn't yelling at me and the upperclassmen should have known better. I nodded, but I made a mental note. Never screw up as an upperclassmen. He told me I had nothing to worry about. Then it was my turn to be taken aback.

But strange things were beginning to happen to me. Like the week before BA Invitational, I was checking over some new drill charts after my afternoon flute lesson, making sure they were right. And out of the blue, Mr. O'Kelly comes up next to me, and watches my work.

"Is it worth it?" He asks.

"What?" I ask stupidly.

"Marching." I smile.

"Yes. Definitely. Of course!" He nods at my typical answer. He knows me by now. He hands me a blue starburst candy.

"You know, I've always been pulling for ya. I heard a rumor that you didn't think so." Uh, yeah! Everyone in a twenty mile radius knows that I'm scared to death about having another incident like last year's All-Region.

"No, not since seventh grade." I joke. He smiles and offers more encouragement about my improvements as I take a few more notes on the drill move. I take one last look at my dot and flip my Dot book closed just as he finishes.

"Thank you, Mr. O'Kelly. Good-bye." I turn and leave.

"Anytime." He calls after me. I walk away and out of the Band Room, twirling the blue square in my hand.

But I cannot say that for all the freshman. We were down to three Freshman in our section at this late in the season, an all time low, I believe. It was Corie Jo, Kristen and I. Kristen enjoyed yaw and I was very happy she did because she never seemed to like band until Comp band.

Corie on the other hand, loathed Comp band and nearly everyone in it. She hated the practice and she hated some of the Seniors. She would not listen to them and Melinda confronted me with this. I was unable to help, because I had no idea what to say. Confused I offered up Kristi talking to her, but to no avail. Corie Jo gets an opinion and sticks with it.

That's what I think anyway, as I run a lap with my section after a particular brutal Thursday night. Urgent Section meetings are held, a student only run-through of Red Shades is preformed, and the section is tested. I begin to wonder if we are one of the 'weak links' in the band. My throat constricts at the thought.

Don't get me wrong, nothing is every as bad it seems. Ashley really took me under her wing during the season and we had a few inside jokes, including a particularly frightening one about Harry Potter's magic wand and a lot of Nazi talk. We would come out early for rehearsals and talk and stretch. Kristi would be there too and we would joke around as well. I felt like a sort of Social butterfly with the ladies in my section. Jennie dubbed me mid season 'lil-sista-worry-too-much' with a smile and Kelsey, Chantal and I had a certain fascination with jell-o. Krista, Tristen, Hannah, Sarah and P.J. were caring and kind to me and Jessica was wise and outgoing. Meanwhile, Melinda was always around to answer a question and Morgan, I believe, found my nervousness oddly charming. We order section shirts, hoodies and button-up sweat pants that we would get before Atlanta, so that was good.

In Comp Band though, we finally got our shirts a few days before the first big trip to Arlington. They were red. Before we could load a charter bus to go to Arlington, there was the matter of a Tahlequah football game. We won the game easily, got really good food, bonded with the Seniors, marched Red Shades, then went home for a few hours and got back on the same buses. The experience for me was a new one, so I brought homework and the all time band kid bus trip favorite, pillow and blanket. I discovered it takes a while to sleep on a bus. Everyone sorta falls a sleep in weird positions too, like I feel a sleep nuzzled against P.J.'s shoulder. And the topic lists range far and wide from how to fend off a rapist to who's making out near the bathroom.

Soon though, daylight came through and we were nearly in Texas. It was my first experience in Texas and I discovered two things. Never sit in front of a former Texan at five o'clock in the morning when he sees a sign that says "Everything is bigger in Texas" and that everything seems to actually be BIGGER in Texas. The highways are identical and the skylines are beautiful too. We made it to Arlington with no time to lose, and we got prepared to march our show. The wait took forever.

L.D. Bell and another big school, Marcus, we're both there and I was excited. Marcus had a sort of bug show and L.D. Bell put out the finale part of their trilogy show. We were up right after Marcus, but we were off. The circles we were to make in Part Three looked more like mobs and it was terrible. I felt so responsible, it nearly killed me to march off the super squishy field. From there, we took a customary picture and then went off to explore.

For the most part, I watched a few shows and then waited in fear when the time came for the awards. After our pitiful performance, I was sure we won nothing. And I was right. Daniele, the unofficially plume collector was freaked out because we were missing four plumes and kept shouting for whoever had them to return them. This circumstance turned from something bad to something hilarious when everyone counted the four shiny black plumes atop the Drum Majors heads as they began to call finals.

"Uh, Daniele…" A clarinet spoke up, poking her in the side.

"I KNOW!"

The fact that we were painfully out of place with the other bands, even the only other band from our state, began to worry us as we heard name after name get called. The uniforms went black, white, black, white, white, white, black, white, black, black, white, black, RED, black, white…Our Drum Majors stood proud as our name was eventually called for finals and the sea of red roared with excitement. So much so, they had to re-announce the last two. We were relived and practically crying because we had made it into finals.

After that we ate a light dinner, talked about the hideous show in a rational manner, and prepared for finals. We knew we had a job to do and every jaw was clenched in stubborn defiance as we went to warm-ups that evening. We were the outsiders and Texas bands were legendary. The show was brilliantly preformed, the jazz-running was much better and the circles were exactly that, circles!

After such a good performance, Mr. Gorham and the other Band Directors took us aside and told us exactly how far we had come. They explained how Jack, our infamous drill writer would be coming the next week and how it was time for us to finish the 2007 season with a bang. Mr. Gorham explained he didn't care about the ranking, and somehow, we believed it.

I lined up in the front of the freshman class to march back into the super squishy stadium. We didn't place last at least, right? We placed 8th, and despite the aforementioned not-caring, we were a little sore. We did go out and congratulate the winners and all before we left and we took away a lot more than a participation trophy.

After a long and bumpy ride home and a half a week of school, it was time for the mandatory Fall Break rehearsal. And along with that, came Jack. I threw up three times the day he was supposed to come. I'd heard the horror stories, and I was scared out of my little Freshman mind. The day he came, the sky was cloudy and it was raining so bad we had to move to the multipurpose. It was not an all day rehearsal, but we made the most of playing the music. I really liked Jack, even though he was so frightening, at least he was cheerful about it. The power went out several times and the storm raged outside as over two hundred students began to feel the power of the music. Lots of heart went into that simple music run through and I was happy, even excited for the all-day rehearsal.

The next rehearsal was on a Friday football game day. And it was hotter than heck. The sweatshirts of yesterday were shed for early Pre-band tank tops and short shorts. Jack enjoyed screaming at my section, but I remember someone he didn't scream at. And strangely enough, it was me. You know me and my OCD nervous freshman quirks right. I take pride in the fact my flute is literally glued to my face at the barest movement of a Drum Major's hand, and Jack noticed this too when he yelled, "Thank you, miss flute player in the back." Now you also know I wouldn't say it was me if I didn't think it was, because I was shocked. Half the band directors didn't even notice when I stayed there all hours of the night, but Jack saw it in the first five minutes of rehearsal. The rehearsal was very demanding, but worth it to really drive it home.

Unfortunately, we were also down a Drum Major because this was the period of time Grant was sick. It scared me to think that he wouldn't be there and the rumors of him never coming back were even worse. Everyone was a little sad, even the Freshman that barely even knew (or like me, feared) the three year DM. Stacy would led the band in the legendary Band/Choir hybrid's absence and I knew she would be great. And as they say, the show must go on. Or, for us, the half-time show.

It was Senior night and Jack had already bid a fond farewell. It amazed me how someone could come in and rearrange how you feel about everything and then just leave. The impact he had on the band was tremendous, like someone had pressed the on switch or sprinkled magic marching dust upon all of the Freshman's pillows the previous night, but whatever it was, it was like a whole new band had sprung to life. We ate a dinner provided by the Band patrons and then got ready for the game.

I was proud for the Seniors as they stood before an adoring home crowd. The Senior glow hurt a little bit, especially from Ben, Melinda and Hilary, but I was excited for them. They had touched all of our lives in so many ways. In the little things they had done and the hands on way that they led. They were never mean and always helpful and my heart ached as I thought of the band without them. I surprised myself as tears pricked my eyes, quickly drying them on a cleaning cloth before anyone could see.

By then though, it was time. Stacy was on the podium. They announced our show and we were off in a swish of red and jazz. I felt so alive, it was like second nature. The runs, the actually running and the direction changes were nothing to me. Even the new movements were good. As we marched off that night, I knew we had the heart and the show to finish the season right. And do you know what else I learned that night? Ben forgot a step off. Mr. Taylor pointed and laughed at the disgruntled Senior.

"That'll be you one day." Ashley noted from behind me. I smiled, knowing she was right.

After Jack left, things began to get crazier. Ha, and you thought it wasn't' possible. With less than a week until Atlanta, it was time for the OSSAA marching contest. Held at BA this year, the contest would determine whether or not we would qualify for sweepstakes. In other words, whether or not we were any good. To say it was a blustery day would be an understatement.

It started out with an in-school rehearsal on the field, in which many awful and wonderful things happened. Jennie was told to leave for the day, which broke two hundred hearts at the same exact time. The Brass learned how to 'play to the box', which looked a lot like a heraldic salute, especially from the holier than though horns. I was amazed as I looked down the line at the Freshman horns from Conny to Sawyer to Josh to Cooper. They looked like they were trained assassins. In other words, they looked like a marching student should.

The eighth graders came and watched us from the stands and the newspaper came to photograph us as well. It was a tense rehearsal, but a well needed one and we headed off to contest. For some reason or another, we were stranded for hours, just talking in the parking lot. I talked with Hannah and a few older flutes and Mr. O'Kelly from time to time. Mr. O'Kelly had recently come up to me during a rehearsal and flat out told me that if they had an award for the best freshman, I would get it. That was basically the thing I'd always wanted to hear from him and I was determined for him to keep that opinion of me. I felt, in a way, honored to get that high praise and, at the same time, really unworthy. It gave me even more reason for being the psychotic little freshman/Nazi-ish everyone had come to know, so it worked out. Ashley had even taken to calling me her mini-me. It was very exciting.

Our performance, was good, despite a Drum line member losing his plume to the wind and a few wind related malfunctions. But our B.F.F.L.s from the south, BA, did not fare as well. We loaded into the stands to watch them perform and we certainly got a show. Their show was pristine and powerful, the runs clear all the march was great, but their hats do not have straps on them. At the end of their show, a grand total of thirty one white and black hats lay dead on he field. I felt incredibly sorry for them, knowing It could just as easily have happened to us, but I was probably the only one who felt that way. At least they held their laughter until they got back to the buses. We made ones and qualified though, so everything was good.

Everyone had a confident aura about them, thinking the same things and feeling the bonds of companionship as they could finish each others sentences. Kristi no longer called me stupid, but I was still the 'newbie'. I grinned, as it had become a term of endearment between us. We all stripped off our uniforms and boarded the buses back to Owasso, ready for the trek to Atlanta and for our season finale.


	9. Atlanta: The final frontier

A/N: Hope you enjoy the last 'real' chapter of Part of the pride. The final chapter will be up next wekend. i hope you are on the edge of your seats because, after all, Freshmen don't stay Freshmen forever, right?-Amanda.

**Atlanta: the Final Frontier.**

We left on a Thursday morning. It was still dark outside as I piled on bus number three, carrying my flute hoodies, section shirt, snap-up pants and a sort of gift box from the band patrons. Kristi and I laughed as we realized our pants were way too big and way to easy to pull off, but we were happy to have them anyway. Soon, we were all ready to go, loaded down with instruments, homework, uniforms and overnight bags. Pillows were soon punched into shape and nearly everyone slept the first few hours of that fateful trip. Not me though, or, at least not the whole way. I was working through a sizeable mountain of homework that threatened to break my spine as I hefted the heavy bad over the seat without waking Jessie Kay, my seat-partner.

"Ouch!" I hissed through my teeth as the aforementioned backpacked crushed my leg into the metal foot bar. Kristi glared at me.

"Freshman…" She growled threateningly.

"Sorry…my homework…" Kristi nodded, readjusting her blankets.

"Well…be in pain more quietly." Later that day, we came to our first stop: Conway, Arkansas. We were to eat lunch and practice on the Central Arkansas University soil. I was wearing an Arkansas shirt I had picked up my third year of band camp at the university of Arkansas in Fayetteville. And wasn't' too keen on dining on campus. I smiled as I saw Mr. O'Kelly was decked out in his old Alma Mater's gear (He attended U of A band camp and collage). Lunch was okay, but as we headed out for rehearsal, it seemed as if fire and brimstone were about to rain down upon us from the blackened skies. It looked like something out of a Terminator movie. It was cold and freezing rain assaulted our poor flutes and anyone who hadn't thought to throw on sweatpants prayed for mercy.

The rehearsal lasted forever and everyone had to run laps. Not only was it painfully obvious we were being awful, they had students there watching. My section was getting screamed at for not having their instruments and Mr. Gorham was relentless. I knew he had to be though, and I wasn't apart of the flutes that were getting yelled at. I remember Mr. Gorham and Mr. Taylor and Mr. Harris yelling that we needed to suck it up and forget it was cold and darn it all if they wouldn't prove a point. With grim expressions on, Mr. Gorham and Mr. Harris began pulling off jackets and gloves and sweatshirts, littering the floor of their white life-guard reminiscent observation towers with the articles of clothing. We went on as normal and soon they were standing outside in nothing but their shorts and t-shirts. Point taken, I thought as the rain fogged up my glasses.

It wasn't' just cold and wet and miserable, to say the least. It was dangerous. I remember nearly slipping on the slick lines of the Conway field. The upperclassmen in my section were proud I didn't fall, but I think all our hearts were beating a bit faster. It was a strange and frightening experience. I was moving backwards one second and the next, nearly colliding with a junior in my section as I crossed yard lines. I can only imagine my horrified expression.

Eventually, our rehearsal from…well, you know…was over and we were back on the bus. The cold from my body and the heat from the bus contradicted each other in a way that made it feeling like I was being assaulted by tiny needles in my extremities. We were all worse for wear as we left, but the band as a whole had improved immensely. It was an understood feeling that we had truly passed the point of no return. We were definitely not in Owasso anymore.

Early the next morning, we were woken to the sounds of bus breaks and band directors. We quickly unloaded at the Renaissance Hotel in Atlanta and made our way to our rooms. I'd say more, but I can't quite remember this period of time due to extreme lack of sleep. Darn my weak Freshman bus-sleeping prowess! Soon though, I was drinking Starbucks in a nice hotel lobby and waiting to head to the mall. We played cards, talked and took 'sneak' pictures of the Seniors. All in all, it was less productive than I make it sound, but still a nice change from the monotony that I would be enjoying had I (god forbid) not been there.

We stormed a nearby mall and dined in the food court. I had acquired a certain palette for dining what I like to call, a la mall-grease so often that fall and went straight for the place that smelled the best, which turned out to be an Italian specialty place that made their own canollis! After words, we shopped around a while and splurged in places like AE and Bath and Body Works, ignoring the curious glances from hard working business men and women on their lunch breaks. Sure it was a Friday afternoon, but what part of marching ban competition did they not get, I mean really! Dillon made the interesting choice to sample the latest wares at Victoria's Secret and returned to the bus with a shirt, a dog and…a thong. Kristi was less than pleased and her boyfriends selections.

But bigger things than baritone players in lingerie awaited our return to the hotel before our final rehearsal. The rehearsal would take place on the field of a nearby high school and we were supposed to change and head there in a ridiculously short amount of time. Unfortunately, none of the keys were working. I could practically feel my resolve melt when my key didn't immediately grant me access to my room, which had my flute in it. Luckily for me, I was 'sort of' calmed down by various Seniors roaming the halls, particularly Ben and Amy.

Finally though, I was able to rescue my poor flute and we were off to the final rehearsal. The rehearsal, to put it lightly, was a scream/cry fest. It was sad and the directors were feeling that the other shoe was going to drop on us at prelims the following morning. Push-ups and laps were doled out in excruciatingly painful measures. A feeling of hopelessness began to push against the weaker links of the band and the directors were poking the proverbially bear with a stick. Luckily for us, the remained true and our last rehearsal ended with a joyous cadence around the perimeter of the field. Well…almost. Dillon was injured and than screamed at by Mr. O'Kelly, for which all parties involved and not, were very angry. As we headed back to the mall for a really late diner, word came that Owasso had lost football game. Everyone lifted their spirits even higher to the 'fact' that it was because we weren't there. That night ended with cheers and a sense of purpose for the day that would define the 2007 Pride of Owasso Competition band. It was show day.

After a hasty breakfast and a haphazard bus ride, we arrived in the parking lot across from the Georgia Dome. We waited forever to go to warm-ups, but we did eventually. After warm-ups, every thing became a blur. Soon, I was standing in a loading dock, packed in tightly with the others in my section. Mr. O'Kelly did his thing whispering to me, "Intense eyes, Amanda." I nodded, wondering how I could look more fiece, but knowing I succeded after he nodded the second time around and patted me on the back.

We marched onto the field. It was enormous and for a moment, I let the feeling of being so small overwhelm me. But my focus never broke, even as I stepped onto the line I knew it was time. The show was good, I can say that much. I felt a little guilt about nearly missing a cue, but I thought I did well all in all. I was so relieved when I saw Mr. Taylor smiling slightly as we marched off the field. We went off from there to buy lunch and get shirts. Stadium food was a very different experience for me, both for its outrageous cost and delicious if not some what small portions.

The day went fast, what with no time to get souvenirs and rushing to the stadium to hear the announcements. Jennie was still waiting in line and I was so grateful she offered to buy my shirt too, but I was on edge, hoping the directors wouldn't notice. Thankfully, they didn't and soon Jennie rejoined the group. We didn't win anything flat-out, but we waited in the dead silence to hear our name. We began to get worried after the first five, but they did call us. A literally sea of red exploded in jubilation as our names were called, and every head turned to look at us. Our Drum Majors would later say they almost clapped for us by mistake, because they had a difficulty hearing on the echoic field. We were then treated to a collage exhibition performance and then we went off for dinner at the CNN center.

It was a crazy night. Nearly no one had time to eat due to overcrowding and a twenty minute dinner limit. We were soon at a little area off a ways from the stadium. I remember feeling an overwhelming sadness as we group into sections. The Seniors had been denied their annual Senior pre-finals talk and Melinda looked incredibly sad. We all cried a little as she read letter from the years previous section leader and the Seniors and Seniors to be threw out comments in general. Hugs were given out and warm-ups were a very emotional affair. Ben read a poem an underclassmen had given him and the sections doled out last minute advice. The flutes exchanged hugs and grasped hands as we lined up and nearly every upperclassman in my section talked with me or gave me some sort of encouragement .I wished I could've expressed how I was feeling that moment a little bit better, but I was so mixed up. I was hit wayside with feelings of loyalty and love and loss at the same time. The Juniors watched the Seniors closely and The seniors glow was unbeatable as we stepped out o the field.

I ha learned many things from the upperclassmen. You must always go half and half: half mind half heart. All mind has no soul, but all heart is sloppy. Draw on the strength of the upperclassmen, they know more than you. Respect, respect, respect. Step as one, breath as one, think as one. Learn to sleep on a bus at three o' clock in the morning. Cut off the finger tips of you gloves for better movement. Learn to speak your mind without being condescending to those younger than you or disrespectful to your superiors. If it is below fifty, wear sweats. Be attentive, but form your own opinions. But the most important lesson I had ever learned from marching band, I discovered myself, while lining up to go to awards after my finale performance.

I looked upon my friends and peers, and realized what we had become. We had been apart of something greater than us, but we were still ourselves, if not better than we had been. Some of us now carried scars or hatred or other bad things, but better things came about too. We were the reflection of what we had been taught, whether we had listened or not made no difference. Some of us would quit. I knew that as I gazed at the faces of some of the kids who already formed enmity towards marching band. But some of us, would prosper. I had a feeling I was going to be okay. I would make Melinda, Ashley, Jennie, Ben, Amy, Hilary and even Grant proud. I would carry on what they taught me along with my own experience.

I had always been upset with the fact that Freshman were not meant to be leaders, but I relieved between the walk to the field and lining up that I had been never relinquished my leadership qualities when I had joined, but I had been meant to grow and form my own style of leadership, a virtual clean slate to build a future on. I wasn't meant to act like a Senior while I was a Freshman. No one could. But I had realized leadership doesn't, and shouldn't, start when you're a Senior or even an upperclassmen. It starts when you begin to ask yourself what you can do to help. When you decide to rise to the occasion and be your best to the benefit of others. Leadership can only start when you start.

I wondered why it had taken me so long to understand such a simple lesson, but my sense of curiosity was calmed as they began to read out places and sources. We weren't twelfth, eleventh, tenth, ninth, or eighth. Well that is up from Arlington. Then they called out seven and it was a solid 80. The band members all silently thinking, "Oh my gosh…we got above and eighty." The stadium grew quite with expectation.

"With a score of Eighty-five point five-five. EIGHTY FIVE POINT FIVE-FIVE." we held our breath. 85.55. That was a great score. We wiggled slightly. We all knew the enjoyed making us wait, but this was ridiculous. The Seniors could have grown up and had kids and careers by this point. Finally, the announcer boomed out the name.

"THE PRIDE OF OWASSO HIGH SCHOOL MARCHING BAND from OWASSO, OKLAHOMA." We stood silent, no gloved clapping or shouts of joy. We stood tall and serious, our minds silently exploding in a joyous shout. The celebration would go outside later, of course but right now, it was time to congratulate Carmel, the winners of the super regional. We were all thrilled with stories of the time the Pride of Owasso took a show to Grand Nationals. Carmel students were raving to us about it. I exchange jokes with Krista and Hilary about sixth, while also being our ranking, was also the IQ of many male band members. But it was all taken lightly. I was a night to celebrate, and it certainly felt like it as the directors order pizza for dinner of the bus.

The ride home was a lot of sleeping, homework, and a nice stop off in a quite town in Arkansas for breakfast. I gad Starbucks again, but in a rural Starbucks with no glamorous feeling to it. No matter, my blueberry iced tea and muffin were still great. We watched some classics on the way home, including the Band Nerd favorite: The Princess Bride. Fortunately for the weary Freshman, they were now considered Marching veterans and had completed their year as the lowest of the low. T

he Season had certainly ended on a high note, and we still had a few more football games to go to. The sun shined brightly as we drove into the Owasso High School parking lot in the early afternoon that Sunday morning. We were given an informal sense of closure as Mr. Harris pointed to the construction that had hampered our beginning efforts so many years ago (August, which, in actually, was lees than three months ago). The now late-October weather was staring to cool everything down and the shell of what would be our new band rooms had sprung up. I smiled, thinking of all the great things we could do with such wonderfully new facilities.

"Better than B.A.s." Band Members whispered quietly. I shook my head. Some habits die hard. After getting my things off the bus I waved off to my friends who were leaving in their cars or with their parents. I knew something new lay ahead of me. Concert Band season. But I grinned as I thought of my marching Band season. When asked the following Monday if I was ready, I will always remember my reply.

"If it's anything like marching band was, sign me up and tell Mr. Gorham not to worry about giving me back my soul."


	10. Epilogue AKA Evolution

**Epilogue A.K.A. Evolution.**

Now, months have passed since I first stepped on to the marching field, nothing more than a nameless Freshman. Lets just say, things have changed. Not trying to brag about myself, but I've gotten way better. I made Symphonic Band, which is the highest band a Freshman can make and I went to All-Region. I've been conducting class in vocal and our Spring trip to San Antonio was like an extra spring break...slash winning spree for our concert bands. The Band room has been closed for the remainder of the year for construction and it looks like we will be moving into our new facilities by August, just in time for Pre-band. The year is coming to a close and a little less than a month remains of my Freshman year. I have made good friends and, thankfully, not too many enemies. And a few weeks ago, I took a leap of faith. I tried out for Drum Major.

Sound too crazy? A Sophomore-to-be vying for Drum Major? Well in our band, anything is possible. Grant was a three year Drum Major, and there was one before him, and one before her. I believe in myself and it doesn't exactly make matters worse when Mr. O'Kelly comes over after Drum Major class and pats me on the back. Conducting in band is a whole new wonderful world and I'm ready for whatever it has to offer me. Who knows what will happen.

But now I'm not focused on leaps of faith or spring trips. I'm thinking about all the fun I had in band this year. From an outrageous section party, in which we were attacked by pirates, to joking with Ashley, Kristi and other upperclassmen about Harry Potter before rehearsal, to the homecoming game in which we were acquainted with the eighth graders. And let's not forget the post marching season things either, like playing duets with Hilary after school, or joking around with Hannah and Metzger in symphonic Band, or goofing off at Basketball games. It had truly been a great year, and I cherished every memory.

Mostly, I was thinking about the eighth graders at the moment, as they assembled in a small cluster before me, preparing for their parade debut in the Trail Days parade. Everything had been set in motion for the coming year. I had even signed up for my very own Band Buddy earlier that week, and after much thinking, I asked for Reed, a smart and funny boy flute who had a lot of heart and even more talent. I quickly spotted him out of the crowd and introduced him to the upperclassmen. He warmed up quickly to Kristi and Bethany especially, chatting away with the upperclassmen with an endearing sense of comfort.

It was still slightly chilly as we lined up. I was between two eighth graders because the weren't supposed together. The Drum line started up and I let out a small laugh as Reed stared in awe.

"Good, huh?" I smiled. He smiled back with a nod. Behind me, stood Shelby, another talented eighth grader who was all sunshine. I talked with Kristi, Reed and Shelby for the most part after the warm-up and the run-through and hoped I wasn't sounding like a broken record as I whisper instructions out of the corner of my mouth to my younger counterpart. But I knew it was worth it as we were called set and then, we marched. I was experiencing something new as I marched that time, the satisfaction of experience. After the parade, hugs were given out and praise was needed for the hard-working eighth graders.

"Newbies, huh Newbie." An upperclassmen said to me as I walked Reed over to the meeting spot after we'd been dismissed. I sighed. My nickname, it seemed, would stick, but I was actually okay with it. Reed seemed to have a sixth sense when I came to listening, because after I bid him good-bye and that I would see him at the Marching Clinic later on, he said something I had hoped for.

"Yes… and Amanda? Thanks for all the stuff you taught me. I really needed it." I smiled at him, knowing the answer before it left my lips.

"No problem. It's my job." He smiled back and me and went off to case up. I walked back to my own car, waving at the assortment of Band kids that waved or called out things to me. I don't know why I was in such a reflective mood but I was, thinking back to my own parade debut. So much had happened, every time I thought back that far, I couldn't help but feel like a veteran. I had something to offer the eighth graders through my experience and for that, I was glad.

Later that day, after everyone had gotten all glamed up, we arrived at the High School gym. I waved hello to the eighth graders that were helping out and entered the gym. It looked nothing like a gym. The gym was decorated in reds and golds, color guard flags from the show hung over the upper floor's black railing and a huge screen hung over the directors platform table. Cardboard cutouts of Russian style buildings created the uniqueness of our 2007 marching show. O the tables, mardi-gra beads and little pairs of red sunglasses bore our band's name and show title.

The evening was very enjoyable, the food was delicious and we laughed at the morphed pictures of the Senior Class during dinner. I wandered away from my table to greet a few friends and looked at our awards. I wasn't even able to take a picture because the table was so enormous, loaded down with the spoils of 'war', it didn't fit the screen. At the foot of the Directors table was a long row of 'smileys'

Whether it's just our band's tradition, I'm not sure, but every year, each Seniors parents decorate a small statuette of their son or daughter to receive at the end of the year. I stood in front of a Drum Major smiley and looked around for the two others like it. Down a ways, in the middle, was a smiley with a ladder, baton and ribbon on it and I immediately knew it was Grant's.

Soon, the presentation started. Ben said a few words about his experience in the band, how much he would miss the directors, and how grateful he was that Mr. Gorham had let him do baseball too. His hair was a light blonde color, as is tradition for the baseball team. I laughed when he commented that it was still Ben, but with blonde hair. Then we watched the band council video, many thank-yous were said and the directors gifts were given out.

Then, it came to the pictures. I couldn't believe some of the moments they captured. There was video from the Conway rehearsal, pictures of our first rehearsals, a group photo from Lassiter and Arlington and even an individual picture of me marching at a football game. PJ turned around and grinned at me. There were happy pictures from the spring trip and serious close-ups and goofy pre-game pictures. An entire year of the Pride in picture form. Then, they did the Senior slideshow and smileys were distributed.

Grant, Amy and Taylor won the Becky Morris service award and Corey, our amazing clarinet section leader, won the John Philip Sousa award. Before long, the night was coming to an end and grant took the podium. He talked about how he didn't want to be in sixth grade band, so long ago but had come to love the band after his sophomore year. Hearing Grant talk about his experience in all his years, all I could think about was what we would be like as Seniors.

Who would win the awards? Who would be a section leader? Who would be missing altogether? Who would be the Head Drum Major? The questions rand at in my mind until Grant recounted an experience in Wind Ensemble where Mr. Gorham had said, "I'm not going to let you down by lowering my expectation ions and accepting mediocrity." He spoke of how it touched him and it touched me in a way too.

So many years ago, I'd been a sixth grader who thought because I had been in band a whole year longer, I was supposed to be better. I was in actuality, two year behind. By seventh grade, I carried the same attitude but got a private lessons teacher. But when we went to an honor band audition, I was reprimanded by Mr. O'Kelly in the harshest of tones. I liked my band director and I was not used to getting yelled at. From there, I vowed to be the best I could, if not for myself, for the band director that had inspired me to clean up my act. Now I had become some who strived for the greatest of dreams, going as far as to try out for the spot of Drum Major at the close of my Freshman year. Mediocrity, had no longer become an option.

I had evolved from the dumb little sixth grade flute and the cocky seventh grader and even the nervous Freshman. I was now a confident Sophomore to be, Drum-Major hopeful and a teacher too, I thought as I spotted a cluster of eighth graders staring up in awe at the Senior. Grant said his parting words and stepped off the podium. I left that night with an undeniable amount of pride. After all, a new day was coming. A new band room, new uniforms, all new Drum Majors and all new faces would soon become part of the pride, just like I did. But this time, I won't be a stupid Freshman. I'll be a confident 'Newbie' veteran.

I left, looking around for Grant to thank him for his speech and tell him how much it ha inspired me. I saw him and made my way over to where he was… but my fear of Seniors got the best of me and I walked out the double doors and into the glow of the pretty May sunset. I sighed to myself. Some things never change.

**Thank you to all the members of the 2007-2008 Pride of Owasso. You all played a special part in this story and I proudly dedicate this story to all the seniors. You were all amazing,. Thank you for you superb leadership and advice. Especially Melinda. You were the best band buddy I could have ever asked for. We will never forget you and good luck!**

A/N: That was my Freshman year. But don't think it is all over yet. I still have three more years, so keep a wary eye out for me and Part of the Pride 2. Like I said , some things never change. J


	11. PREVIEW: Part of the Pride 2!

**A/N:** Hey guys. Though it won't be posted for a few months, I figured now was as good as a time as any to give out the preview for the new Part of the Pride. And yes, the title is a Fall Out Boy song. I've never heard it, but my sister is a huge fan and the title fit it very well. Sorry it's short, but we all gotta start somewhere!-Amanda

Part of the Pride 2: Sophomore Slump or Comeback Of The Year? (Working title)

This is the unedited, unprecedented story of the Pride of Owasso Marching Band through the eyes of a determined Sophomore Flute Player with high hopes and huge dreams. After discovering the section needed all the help it could get, Amanda has another season of marching to do, and more importantly, a bunch of Freshman rookies to teach.

This time around, the Pride is headed way out west to Las Vegas, people are fainting left and right, and the flute section has finally integrated with two boy flute players. Caution: We are not responsible for the uncontainable thoughts of wishing your band had a cool boy flute player or for your Drumline chasing each other around with spray-on sunscreen during water breaks.

**The (Second) First Day of Pre-Band**

Before the clocks even change to 7:00 AM, something is stirring within the construction site of the Owasso High School. It starts out innocently small, teenagers in groups of threes and fours walk up to the shining silver doors, in regular intervals of ten minutes, and disappear within the confines of the construction zone. As the clock moves closer to 7:30, the groups begin to come more often and they begin to grow in size. Approaching 7:45, the parking lot is filled with cars and trucks and even more teenagers, who are dashing through the double doors, armed with pencils and water bottles and canvas instrument cases.

Anywhere else, this would be a strange and unusual occurrence, teenagers waking up at the crack of dawn and entering a construction zone, especially that of a school construction zone in July. But these aren't normal teenagers, no, not by a long shot. You see, these teenagers are the two-hundred and eighty members of the Pride of Owasso High School Marching Band, that construction site is their new band room and this is the start of the 2008 Marching Season, Pre-band, to be exact.


End file.
